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THE 


CASTLE   OF  EHRENSTEIN. 


VOL.  I. 


THE 


CASTLE  OF  EHRENSTEIN; 

ITS  LORDS 
S»ptritual  anb  'STemporal; 

ITS  i:nha:bitants 

lEartfjlt}  anb  ^^neartftlp. 

BY 

G.  r.  E,  JAMES,  ESQ. 

ACTHOR   OF 

"  HEIDELBERG  ;"  "  THE  STEP-MOTHER  ;"  "  THE  SMUGGLER  ;" 

ETC.   ETC.   ETC. 


liV  THREE  VOLUMES. 
VOL.  L 


LONDON: 

SMITH,  ELDER  AND  CO.,  60,  CORNHILL. 


1847. 


^ 


Lowdok:  • 

Printed  by  Stewart  &  Murrat, 
Old  Bailey. 


EHRENSTEIN/ 


CHAPTER    I. 

It  was   an    awfully   dark    and    tempestuous 

night;  the  wind  howled  in  fury  through  the 

trees,  and  round  the  towers ;  the  large  drops 

of  rain  dashed    against   the    casements,   the 

small  lozenges  of  glass  rattled  and  clattered 

in  their  leaden  frames,  and  the  thick  boards 

of  the  oaken  floor  heaved  and  shivered  under 

7  the  force  of  the  tempest.     From  time  to  time 

.la  keen  blue  streak  of  lightning  crossed  the 

^"^  descending  deluge,  and  for  an  instant  the  great 

black  masses  of  the  forest,  and  the  high  and 

7  broken  rocks  around,  appeared  like  spectres 

"^        VOL.    I.  B 


2  EHRENSTEIN. 

of  a  gone-by  world,  and  sank  into  Egyptian 
darkness  again,  almost  as  soon  as  seen ;  and 
then  the  roar  of  the  thunder  was  added  to  the 
scream  of  the  blast,  seeming  to  shake  the 
whole  building  to  its  foundation. 

In  the  midst  of  this  storm,  and  towards  one 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  a  young  man,  of  about 
one-and-twenty  years  of  age,  took  his  way 
silently,  and  with  a  stealthy  step,  through  the 
large  old  halls  and  long  passages  of  the  castle 
of  Ehrenstein.  His  dress  was  that  of  one 
moving  in  the  higher  ranks  of  society,  but 
poor  for  his  class  ;  and  though  the  times  were 
unusually  peaceful,  he  wore  a  heavy  sword  by 
his  side,  and  a  poniard  hanging  by  a  ring  from 
his  girdle.  Gracefully  yet  powerfully  formed, 
his  frame  afforded  the  promise  of  great  future 
strength,  and  his  face,  frank  and  handsome 
without  being  strictly  beautiful,  owed  perhaps 
more  to  the  expression  than  to  the  features. 
He  carried  a  small  brazen  lamp  in  his  hand, 
and  seemed  bound  upon  some  grave  and 
important  errand,  for  his  countenance  was 
serious  and  thoughtful,  his  eyes  generally  bent 


EHRENSTEIN.  3 

down,  and  his    step    quick,  although,  as  we 
have  said,  light  and  cautious. 

The  room  that  he  quitted  was  high  up  in 
the  building,  and,  descending  by  a  narrow  and 
steep  staircase,  formed  of  large  square  blocks 
of  oak,  with  nothing  but  a  rope  to  steady  the 
steps,  he  entered  a  long  wide  corridor  below, 
flanked  on  one  side  by  tall  windows  like  those  of 
a  church,  and  on  the  other  by  numerous  small 
doors.  The  darkness  was  so  profound  that,  at 
first,  the  rays  of  the  lamp  only  served  to  dissi- 
pate the  obscurity  immediately  around  it,  while 
the  rest  of  the  corridor  beyond  looked  like  the 
mouth  of  a  yawning  interminable  vault,  filled 
with  gloom  and  shadows.  The  next  moment, 
however,  as  he  advanced,  a  blazing  sheet  of 
electric  flame  glanced  over  the  windows,  dis- 
playing their  long  line  upon  the  right,  and 
the  whole  interior  of  the  corridor.  Here  and 
there  an  old  suit  of  armour  caught  the  light, 
and  the  grotesque  figures  on  two  large  antique 
stone  benches  seemed  to  grin  and  gibber  in 
the  flame.  Still  the  young  man  walked  on, 
pausing  only  for  one  moment  at  a  door  on 

B  2 


4  EHRENSTEIN. 

the  left,  and  looking  up  at  it  with  a  smile 
somewhat  melancholy. 

At  the  end  of  the  corridor,  on  the  left,  he 
came  to  a  larger  staircase  than  that  which 
he  had  before  descended,  and  going  cautiously 
down,  and  through  some  other  passages,  he 
found  himself  in  a  small  vestibule,  with  two 
doors  on  either  hand.  They  were  of  various 
dimensions,  but  all  studded  with  large  nails, 
and  secured  by  thick  bands  of  iron;  and 
turning  to  the  largest  of  the  four,  he  quietly 
lifted  the  latch,  and  pushed  it  open.  The 
wind,  as  he  did  so,  had  nearly  blown  out 
the  lamp,  and  in  suddenly  shading  it  with  his 
hand,  he  let  slip  the  ponderous  mass  of  wood- 
work, which  was  blown  back  against  its  lintels 
with  a  dull  clang,  which  echoed  far  away 
through  the  vaulted  passages  of  the  castle. 

The  young  man  paused  and  listened,  ap- 
parently fearful  that  his  proceedings  might 
be  noticed ;  but  then,  as  all  was  silent  till  a 
loud  peal  of  thunder  again  shook  the  ear  of 
night,  he  opened  the  door  once  more,  care- 
fully shading  the  lamp  with  his  cloak.     Then, 


EHRENSTEIN.  5 

closing  the  door  gently  behind  him,  he  turned 
a  large  key  that  was  in  the  lock,  seemingly 
to  ensure  that  he  should  not  be  followed.  He 
was  now  in  a  vast  old  hall,  which  seemed  to 
have  been  long  unused,  for  there  were  mani- 
fold green  stains  upon  the  stone  pavement,  no 
customary  rushes  strewed  the  floor,  no  benches 
stood  at  the  sides,  and  the  table,  at  which 
many  a  merry  meal  had  passed,  was  no  longer 
to  be  seen,  A  number  of  torn  and  dusty 
banners  and  pennons,  on  the  lances  which 
had  borne  them  to  the  field,  waved  overhead, 
as  the  wind,  which  found  its  way  through 
many  a  broken  lozenge  in  the  casements, 
played  amongst  these  shreds  of  departed 
glories.  A  whispering  sound  came  from 
them  likewise,  and  to  an  imaginative  mind 
like  that  of  the  youth  who  walked  on 
beneath  them,  some  of  the  rustling  banners 
seemed  to  ask,  "Whither,  whither?"  and 
others  to  answer,  "  To  dust,  to  dust." 

In  the  middle  of  the  hall  he  paused  and 
thought.  A  degree  of  hesitation  appeared 
to   come    over    him;    and   then,    murmuring 


6"  EHRENSTEIN. 

"  It  must  be  all  nonsense ;  but,  true  or 
not,  I  have  promised,  and  I  will  go,"  be 
walked  forward  to  another  door  at  the  far  end 
of  the  hall,  much  smaller  than  that  by  which 
he  had  entered.  Apparently,  it  had  not 
been  opened  for  a  long  time,  as  a  pile  of 
dust  lay  thick  against  it.  There  was  no 
key  in  the  lock,  and  it  seemed  fastened 
from  the  other  side.  After  pushing  it, 
however,  to  see  if  it  would  give  way,  the 
young  man  drew  forth  a  key,  saying  to 
himself,  "  Perhaps  this  opens  all,"  and  ap- 
plying it,  after  some  examination  of  the 
key-hole,  he  turned  it,  and  threw  back  the 
door.  Then  holding  up  the  lamp  ere 
he  entered,  he  gazed  into  the  space  before 
him.  It  was  a  low  narrow  passage  in 
the  stone-work,  with  no  windows,  or  even 
loopholes,  perceptible;  but  yet  the  damp 
found  its  way  in,  for  the  walls  were  glis- 
tening all  over  with  unwholesome  slime. 
The  pavement,  too,  if  pavement  indeed  there 
was  at  all,  was  covered  thickly  with  a  coat- 
ing of  black  mould,  from  which,  every  here 


EHRENSTEIN. 


and  there,  sprang  up  a  crop  of  pale  sickly- 
fungi  covered  with  noxious  dew,  spreading  a 
sort  of  faint,  unpleasant,  odour  around. 

So  foul,  and  damp,  and  gloomy  looked  the 
place,  that  it  evidently  required  an  effort  of 
resolution  on  the  young  man's  part  to  enter ; 
but  after  pausing  for  a  moment  he  did  so, 
and  closed  and  locked  the  door  behind  him  ; 
then  turning  round,  he  looked  on,  still  holding 
up  the  lamp,  as  if  he  expected  to  see  some 
fearful  object  in  the  way :  all  was  vacant, 
however,  and  as  the  faint  rays  of  light  dis- 
persed tlie  darkness,  he  could  perceive  another 
door  at  the  end  of  the  passage,  some  twenty 
yards  in  advance.  It,  when  he  reached  it, 
was  found  unfastened,  and  on  drawing  it  back 
— for  it  opened  inwards — the  top  of  a  flight 
of  stone  steps  was  before  him,  descending, 
apparently,  into  a  well. 

It  was  no  faint  heart  that  beat  within  his 
bosom,  but  those  were  days  in  which  existed 
a  belief  almost  universal  in  things  which  our 
more  material  times  reject  as  visionary  ;  or 
which,  at  least,  are  only  credited  by  a  few,  who 


8  EHRENSTEIN. 

can  see  no  reason  why,  in  the  scheme  of  crea- 
tion, there  should  not  be  means  of  communica- 
tion between  the  spiritual  and  the  corporeal, 
or  why  the  bond  of  mortal  life  once  dissolved, 
the  immortal  tenant  of  the  fleshly  body  should 
not  still  feel  some  interest  in  the  things 
of  earth,  amongst  which  it  moved  so  long, 
and  have  the  power  and  the  permission  to 
make  its  presence  felt  for  warning  and  for 
guidance.  It  is  very  different  to  feel  an  awe 
and  a  dread  in  any  undertaking,  and  to  shrink 
from  executing  it.  The  young  man  did  feel 
awe,  for  he  was  going  in  solitude  and  the 
midst  of  night  into  places  where  mortal  foot 
rarely  trod,  where  every  association  and  every 
object  was  connected  with  dark  and  dreary 
memories,  and  with  still  more  gloomy  anti- 
cipations— the  memorials  of  the  dead,  the 
mouldering  ruins  of  fellow-men,  the  records 
of  the  tomb,  the  picture  of  all  that  warm 
existence  comes  to  in  the  end.  He  stopped 
for  a  moment  there,  and  gazed  down  into  the 
dark  void  below,  but  the  next  instant,  with 
a  slow   and   careful  foot  upon  the  wet  and 


EHRENSTEIN.  9 

slippery  steps,  he  began  the  descent.  The 
air,  which  was  sultry  above,  felt  cold  and 
chilling  as  he  descended,  and  the  lamp  burned 
dim,  with  a  diminished  flame,  from  the  impure 
vapours  that  seemed  congregated  in  the  place. 
Each  step,  too,  produced  a  hollow  echo, 
ringing  round,  and  decreasing  gradually  in 
sound,  both  above  and  below,  till  it  seemed 
as  if  voices  were  whispering  behind  him 
and  before  him.  Twice  he  paused  to  listen, 
scarcely  able  to  persuade  himself  that  he  did 
not  hear  tongues  speaking,  but  as  he  stopped 
the  sound  ceased,  and  again  he  proceeded  on 
his  way.  The  square  cut  stones  forming  the 
shaft  in  which  the  staircase  turned,  with  the 
jointing  only  more  clearly  discernible  from 
the  mortar  having  dropped  out,  soon  gave  way 
to  the  more  solid  masonry  of  nature,  and 
the  rude  rock,  roughly  hewn,  was  all  that 
was  left  around  him,  with  the  stairs  still 
descending  in  the  midst.  A  hundred  and 
seventeen  steps,  some  of  them  perilous  from 
decay,  brought  him,  at  length,  to  the  termi- 
nation, with  a  door  ajar  at  the  foot.     All  was 


iO  EHRENSTEIN. 

darkness  beyond,  and  though  there  seemed 
a  freer  air  as  he  pulled  the  door  back,  and  the 
lamp  burned  up  somewhat  more  clearly,  yet 
the  vast  gloomy  expanse  before  hhn  lost 
scarcely  a  particle  of  its  gloom,  as  he  ad- 
vaneed  with  a  beating  heart,  bearing  the 
light  in  his  hand.  He  was  unconscious  of 
touching  the  door  as  he  passed,  but  the 
moment  he  had  entered  it  swung  slowly  to, 
and  a  solemn  clang  echoed  through  the  vault. 

Laying  his  left  hand  on  his  dagger,  he 
turned  suddenly,  and  looked  behind  him,  but 
there  was  no  one  there,  and  he  saw  nothing 
but  the  heavy  stone  walls  and  low  groined 
arches,  which  seemed  spreading  out  intermin- 
ably on  either  side.  The  next  moment  a 
bat  fluttered  across,  and  swept  his  face  with 
its  cold  dewy  wing,  nearly  extinguishing  the 
lamp  as  it  passed ;  and  then,  as  he  took  a  few 
steps  forward,  a  low  voice  asked,  "  Who 
is  he?" 

"Who?  who? "several  other  voices  seemed 
to  say  ;  and  then  another  cried,  "  Hush  ! " 

The  young  man  caught  the  lamp  in  his  left 


EHRENSTEIN.  11 

hand,  and  half  drew  his  sword  with  his  right, 
demanding  aloud,  "Who  spoke?"  There 
was  no  reply  but  the  echo  of  his  own  voice 
amidst  the  arches;  and  holding  the  lamp 
before  him,  he  turned  to  the  side  from  which 
the  first  question  seemed  to  proceed,  and 
thought  he  saw  a  figure  standing  in  the  dim 
obscurity,  at  a  few  paces  distance.  "Who 
are  you?"  he  cried,  stepping  forward,  but 
there  the  figure  stood,  grew  more  defined  as 
the  rays  fell  upon  it,  and  the  eyeless  grinning 
head,  and  long  mouldy  bones  of  a  skeleton 
appeared,  bound  with  a  rusty  chain  to  a  thick 
column.  Instinctively  he  started  back,  when 
he  first  discovered  what  the  object  was,  and 
as  he  did  so,  a  low,  wild,  echoing  laugh  rang 
round  through  the  arches  on  every  side,  as 
if  mocking  the  horror  which  his  countenance 
expressed.  Nothing  showed  itself,  however, 
and,  ashamed  of  his  own  sensations,  he  drew 
his  sword  out  of  the  sheath,  and  walked 
quickly  on.  His  path  soon  became  encum- 
bered, and  first  he  stumbled  over  a  slimy 
skull,    then    trod     upon     some    bones    that 


12  EHRENSTEIN.  ^ 

cranched  under  his  feet,  while  strange  whis- 
perings seemed  to  spread  around  him,  till, 
with  no  light  joy,  he  saw  the  farther  wall  of 
the  vault,  with  an  open  arch  leading  out  into 
some  place  beyond.  When  he  had  passed 
it,  however,  the  scene  was  no  less  sad  and 
gloomy,  for  he  seemed  now  in  a  vast  building 
like  a  chapel,  where,  ranged  on  either  hand, 
were  sepulchral  monuments  covered  with  dust, 
and  between  them  long  piles  of  mouldering 
coffins,  with  overhead  a  banner  here  and 
there,  gauntlets,  and  swords,  and  tattered 
surcoats,  the  hues  of  which  could  scarcely 
be  distinguished  through  the  deep  stains  and 
mildew  that  covered  them.  Here  frowned 
the  figure  of  a  warrior  in  black  marble,  there 
lay  another  hewn  in  plain  stone;  here  stood 
a  pile  of  coffins,  wdth  the  velvet  which  once 
covered  them,  and  the  gold  with  which  they 
were  fringed,  all  mouldering  in  shreds,  and 
offering  a  stern  comment  on  the  grossest  of 
human  vanities,  that  tries  to  deck  the  grave 
with  splendour,  and  serves  up  the  banquet 
of  the  worm  in  tinsel.    When  he  had  half 


EHRENSTEIN.  13 

passed  along  the  solemn  avenue,  he  thought 
he  heard  a  sound  behind,  and  turned  to  look, 
but  there  was  nothing  near  except  three  small 
coffins  and  the  marble  effigy  of  a  lady  kneeling 
in  the  attitude  of  prayer.  When  he  turned 
round  again,  a  sudden  light,  blue  and  pale, 
like  that  of  the  unconfirmed  dawn,  shone 
through  the  long  arcades,  wavered  and 
flickered  round,  as  if  moving  from  place  to 
place,  though  whence  it  proceeded  he  could 
not  see ;  but  as  he  strode  on,  it  served  to 
show  him  a  large  snake,  that  darted  from 
under  the  crumbling  base  of  one  of  the 
monuments,  and  glided  on  along  the  path 
before  him,  as  if  guiding  him  on  his  way. 

*'  By  Heaven !  this  is  all  very  strange  and 
horrible,"  he  exclaimed,  and  instantly  there 
was  a  wild  *' whoop,"  coming  from  several 
parts  of  the  chapel.  The  pale  light  that 
shone  around  was  extinguished,  and  nought 
remained  but  the  dim  lamp  in  his  own  hand. 

He  would  not  be  turned  back,  however, 
but   hurried  only  the  more  quickly  forward 


14  EHRENSTEIN. 

till  he  reached  a  door  at  the  opposite  side. 
It  was  bolted  within,  but  not  locked ;  and 
pulling  back  the  iron  bar  from  the  staple, 
he  rushed  out,  the  strong  gust  of  the  night 
air  and  the  pattering  drops  of  rain  instantly 
extinguishing  the  lamp.  A  shrill  scream  met 
his  ear  as  the  door  swung  to  behind  him ; 
but  nevertheless  he  paused,  and  put  his  hand 
to  his  brow,  with  sensations  in  his  bosom 
which  he  had  never  felt  before,  and  which 
he  was  ashamed  to  feel. 

While  he  thus  stood  a  fierce  flash  of  lightning 
blazed  around,  dazzling  bis  eyes  for  a  mo>- 
ment,  but  serving  to  show  him  the  exact  point 
of  the  rocky  hill  which  he  had  now  reached, 
and  a  path  winding  on  down  the  woody  descent, 
narrow,  rough,  and  stony,  looking  more  as  if 
it  had  been  traced  by  some  torrent  pouring 
down  the  side  of  the  slope,  than  by  the  foot 
of  man.  Along  it  he  turned  his  steps,  guided 
by  the  trees  and  bushes,  which  rendered  it 
impossible  that  he  should  miss  his  way,  till, 
nearly  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  a  faint  light 


EHRENSTEIN.  16 

shone  before  him  from  the  window  of  what 
appeared  a  little  chapel. 

"  The  good  priest  is  watching  for  me,"  the 
young  man  said  to  himself;  and  hurrying  on 
he  gained  a  small  projecting  point  of  the  rock 
which  stood  out  clear  from  amongst  the  trees. 
Like  many  another  jagged  fragment  of  crag 
in  that  wild  country,  it  towered  up  above  the 
surrounding  objects  like  a  ruined  outwork 
of  the  castle  above,  and  when  he  had  climbed 
to  the  summit,  the  young  wanderer  turned 
to  gaze  up  at  the  building  he  had  just  left. 
All  was  dark  and  gloomy;  not  a  ray  broke 
from  window  or  loophole,  except  at  one  spot 
where  a  blaze  shone  forth  upon  the  night 
high  up  in  the  sky,  shining  red  and  hazy 
through  the  tempestuous  air,  like  some  star 
of  evil  omen.  But  the  youth  heeded  not 
that  light ;  he  knew  well  that  it  was  the 
beacon  on  the  highest  pinnacle  of  the  donjon, 
beside  which,  under  shelter  of  the  watch- 
tower's  roof,  the  weary  sentinel  was  striving 
to    keep    himself   awake,    perhaps    in   vain. 


16  EHRBNSTEIN. 

The  rest  was  all  as  obscure  as  the  world 
beyond  the  tomb,  and  satisfied  that  his  going 
had  not  been  marked,  he  hurried  on  to 
the  little  chapel  or  hermitage,  and  lifted 
the  latch. 


EHRENSTEIN.  17 


CHAPTER    II. 

The  interior  of  the  building  into  which  the 
young  man  now  entered,  afforded  a  strange 
contrast  to  the  wild  and  fearful  scenes  through 
which  he  had  just  passed.  It  was  like  life  and 
death  side  by  side — the  world  and  the  grave  ; 
and  the  change  struck  him  as  much,  or  per- 
haps more,  than  if  the  particulars  had  been 
reversed.  It  was  a  little  cell,  dependent  upon 
the  neighbouring  monastery,  with  a  chapel 
attached  to  it,  dedicated  to  Our  Lady;  but 
the  room  into  which  the  door  immediately  led 
was  one  of  the  two  dwelling -chambers  of  the 
priests,  who  came  up  there  in  weekly  turn  to 
officiate  at  the  chapel.  It  was  low-roofed  and 
small ;  but,  nevertheless,  it  had  an  air  of  com- 
fort and  cheerfulness  about  it;  and  the  large 

VOL.   I.  c 


18  EHRENSTEIN. 

•well-trimmed  lamp  showed  the  whole  extent, 
and  left  not  one  corner  in  obscurity.  A  little 
table  stood  in  the  midst,  with  the  good  priest 
seated  at  it:  a  book  open  before  him,  and 
another  closed  at  his  side ;  but  besides  these 
objects  of  study  or  devotion,  the  table  bore 
several  things  connected  with  our  corporeal 
comfort,  which  showed  that  at  all  events  the 
chapel  was  not  a  hermitage.  There  was  a 
well-roasted  capon,  and  two  or  three  rolls  or 
small  loaves  of  white  bread — a  rarity  in  that 
part  of  the  country,  and  at  that  time ;  and 
besides  these,  there  appeared  two  or  three 
neat  glasses  with  twisted  stalks,  and  a  capa- 
cious green  bottle,  large  in  the  bulb,  flattened 
at  the  sides,  and  with  a  neck  towering  like  a 
minaret.  It  was  a  very  promising  vessel  in- 
deed, for  its  peculiar  shape,  form,  and  thick- 
ness, w^ere  too  expensive  to  be  in  general 
bestowed  upon  bad  wine  ;  and  the  monks  were 
supposed  in  those  days,  as  at  present,  to  be 
very  accurate  judges  of  what  was  really  good. 

Amongst  the   most  cheerful   things   in   the 
place,  however,   was  the   countenance  of  the 


EHRENSTEIN.  19 

priest  himself.  He  was  a  man  of  somewhat 
more  than  sixty  years  of  age,  but  fresh,  firm, 
and  unbroken,  with  a  complexion  which,  origi- 
nally fair  and  smooth,  seemed  only  to  have 
grown  fairer  and  more  smooth  with  years ;  and 
though  the  untonsurcd  part  of  his  hair  was 
as  white  as  driven  snow,  his  blue  eye  was  as 
clear  and  bright  as  in  youth.  His  features 
were  high  and  somewhat  aquiline,  his  eye- 
brows long  and  white ;  but  that  which  denoted 
age  more  than  aught  else,  was  the  falling  in  of 
the  lips  by  the  sad  ravages  of  time  upon  those 
incessant  plagues  of  life  —  the  teeth.  His 
countenance  was  a  cheerful  and  contented 
one ;  not  without  lines  of  thought,  and  perhaps 
of  care ;  but  to  the  eye  of  one  accustomed  ta 
read  the  character  upon  the  face,  the  expres- 
sion would  have  indicated  a  temperament  and 
disposition  naturally  easy  and  good-humoured, 
without  any  want  of  mental  energy  and  ac- 
tivity. 

"Ah!  Ferdinand,"  he  said,  as  soon  as  he 
beheld  his  visitor,  "you  have  kept  me  long, 
my  son,  but  that  matters  not — it  is  a  terrible 

c  2 


20  EHRENSTEIN. 

night,  and  the  way  somewhat  troublesome  to 
find.  But,  all  good  angels !  what  makes  you 
look  so  pale,  boy  ?  Yours  is  not  a  cheek  to 
turn  white  at  a  flash  of  lightning.  Sit  down, 
sit  down,  my  son,  and  refresh  yourself.  See, 
I  have  provided  for  your  entertainment." 

"  The  way  is  a  terrible  one,  good  father," 
replied  the  young  man,  seating  himself,  and 
resting  his  arm  upon  the  table,  "  and  it  is  one 
I  will  never  tread  willingly  again,  unless  it  be 
to  return  home  this  night,  though  that  I  would 
not  do,  if  there  were  any  way  of  avoiding  it." 

"Why,  how  now,  how  now?"  asked  the 
priest.  "Never  let  it  be  said  that  you  have 
been  frightened  by  a  score  of  old  monuments, 
and  a  few  dry  bones." 

"  That 's  not  all,  good  Father,  that 's  not  all," 
answered  the  young  man ;  and  he  proceeded 
to  relate,  in  a  low  voice,  all  that  he  had  heard 
and  seen  as  he  came  thither. 

"Phantasms  of  the  imagination!"  exclaimed 
the  priest.  "Voices  in  the  serfs'  burying- 
place  !  lights  in  the  chapel  vaults  !  No,  no, 
good  youth,   such  things  are  quite  impossible ; 


EHRENSTEIN.  21 

these  are  but  tales  of  the  castle  hall,  told  in  the 
■winter's  evening  round  the  fire,  which  have  so 
filled  your  imagination  that  you  realize  them 
to  yourself  in  a  dark,  stormy  night,  and  a 
gloomy  place.  I  have  gone  up  there  a 
hundred  times,  by  night  and  day,  and  never 
yet  saw  aught  but  old  crumbling  stones  and 
mouldy  arches,  and  fleshless  bones  here  and 
there  ;  things  fitted,  surely,  to  produce  solemn 
thoughts  of  the  mortality  of  man*s  frame,  of 
the  vanity  of  all  his  works,  and  the  emptiness 
of  his  glory,  but  not  to  fill  your  head  with 
fancies  such  as  these." 

"  But,  Father,  I  tell  you  I  heard  the  voices  as 
distinctly  as  I  hear  you  speak,"  the  youth  re- 
joined, in  a  half  angry  tone ;  "  that  I  saw  the 
light  as  plainly  as  I  see  this  before  me." 
"  A  flash  of  lightning,"  replied  the  priest. 
"No,  no,"  answered  his  companion,  "I 
never  saw  a  flash  of  lightning  that  lasted  un- 
interrupted, calm,  and  quiet,  for  five  minutes, 
nor  you  either,  father ;  nor  did  I  ever  hear  the 
thunder  ask,  «Who  is  he?'  nor  laugh  and  hoot 
like   a  devil.     I  would    not   have    believed   it 


22  EHRENSTEIN. 

myself,  had  I  not  had  eyes  and  ears  to  witness ; 
and  so  I  cannot  blame  you  for  doubting  it.  I 
never  was  a  believer  in  ghosts  or  phantoms, 
or  spirits  visiting  the  earth,  till  now.  I  thought 
them  but  old  women's  tales,  as  you  do." 

"  Nay,  nay,"  exclaimed  the  priest,  eagerly, 
"  I  did  not  say  that ;"  and  he  fell  into  a  deep 
fit  of  thought  before  he  proceeded  farther.  At 
length  he  continued,  in  a  grave  tone,  saying, 
*^You  must  not  suppose,  Ferdinand,  that  I 
doubt,  in  any  degree,  that  spirits  are  at  times 
permitted  to  visit  or  revisit  this  world.  We 
have  the  warrant  of  Scripture  for  it,  and  many 
facts  of  the  kind  are  testified  by  fathers  of  the 
church,  and  holy  men,  whom  it  would  be  a 
sin  to  suspect  of  falsehood,  and  a  presumption 
to  accuse  of  foolishness.  But  I  do  think  that 
in  thousands  of  instances  where  such  appa- 
ritions are  supposed  to  have  taken  place, 
especially  in  the  present  day,  there  is  much 
more  either  of  folly  or  deception  than  of 
truth.  In  this  case,  although  I  have  heard  the 
women,  and  some  of  the  boors,  declare  that 
they  have  seen  strange  sights  about  the  castle. 


EHRENSTEIN.  23 

I  have  always  fancied  the  report  mere  non- 
sense, as  I  never  beheld  anything  of  the  kind 
myself;  but  there  certainly  was  something 
odd  and  unaccountable  in  the  Graff  sud- 
denly shutting  up  the  great  hall  where  his 
brother  used  always  to  feast  with  his  retainers ; 
and  people  did  say  that  he  had  seen  a  sight 
there  which  had  made  him  dread  to  enter  it 
again ;  yet  I  have  passed  through  the  vaults 
and  the  hall,  many  a  time  since,  without  ever 
beholding  aught  to  scare  me." 

*^But  take  some  food,  my  son,  aye,  and 
some   wine    too, — it   will    refresh    and   revive 

you." 

The  young  man  did  not  object,  for,  to  say 
truth,  he  much  needed  refreshment,  the  agi- 
tation of  the  mind  being  always  much  more 
exhausting  than  mere  corporeal  fatigue.  The 
good  priest  joined  in  his  supper  with  mode- 
ration, but  with  evident  satisfaction;  for,  alas 
that  it  should  be  so !  yet,  nevertheless,  it  is  a 
fact,  that  as  we  advance  in  life,  losing  pleasure 
after  pleasure,  discovering  the  delusions  of  the 
imagination,  which  are  mixed  up  with  so  many 


24  EHRENSTEIN. 

of  our  joys,  and  the  deceitful  character  of  not  a 
few  even  of  our  intellectual  delights,  there  is  a 
strong  tendency  to  repose  upon  the  scanty 
remnant  of  mere  material  gratifications  that  are 
left  to  us  by  the  infirmities  of  the  body.  He 
helped  himself  and  his  guest  to  a  glass  of  the 
good  wine,  took  another  without  hesitation, 
and  then  insisted  upon  Ferdinand  replenishing 
his  glass,  and,  encouraging  him  to  do  so,  bore 
him  company.  The  young  man's  spirits  rose  ; 
the  scenes  he  had  just  passed  through  were 
partially  forgotten,  and  the  feelings  and  im- 
pressions which  he  had  felt  before  he  set  out, 
and  which,  indeed,  had  brought  him  thither, 
once  more  became  predominant.  Finishing  his 
meal,  he  wiped  his  dagger,  and  thrust  it  back 
into  the  sheath;  and  then  turning  to  the 
monk,  he  said,  "  Well,  good  Father  George,  I 
have  come  at  your  bidding,  and  would  come 
further  to  please  you,  though  I  know  not  well 
what  you  want,  even  if  I  suspect  a  little. 
There  was  nothing  very  wrong,  though  I  saw 
you  gave  me  a  frown." 

"  I  never  thought  there  was  anything  wrong. 


EHRENSTEIN.  2S 

my  son,"  replied  the  priest,  gravely.  "  I  saw 
the  lady's  hand  in  yours,  it  is  true.  I  saw  her 
eyes  turned  up  to  yours,  with  a  very  beaming 
look.  I  saw  yours  bent  down  on  her,  as  if 
your  knee  would  have  soon  bent  also,  but  I 
never  thought  there  was  anything  wrong — of 
course  not." 

His  tone  was  perfectly  serious  ;  but  whether 
it  was  conscience,  or  a  knowledge  that  Father 
George  did  not  altogether  dislike  a  jest,  even 
upon  grave  matters,  Ferdinand  could  not  help 
suspecting  that  his  companion  spoke  ironically. 
He  did  not  feel  quite  sure  of  it,  however,  and 
after  considering  for  a  moment,  he  replied, 
*^  Well,  whatever  you  may  think.  Father,  it  was 
all  very  simple.  Her  horse  had  fallen  with 
her  in  the  morning ;  I  had  not  seen  her  since  I 
had  aided  to  raise  her,  and  I  was  only  asking 
how  she  had  fared  after  the  accident." 

"Nothing  more,  I  doubt  not,"  replied  the 
priest,  in  the  same  tone. 

'*  On  my  life,  on  my  honour!"  exclaimed  the 
young  man. 


26  EHRENSTEIN. 

**  And  yet  you  love  her,  and  she  loves  you, 
Ferdinand,"  rejoined  Father  George,  with  a 
quiet  smile.  "  Deny  it  not,  my  boy,  for  it  is  a 
fact." 

*^  Well,"  answered  the  youth,  with  a  glowing 
cheek,  "  it  may  be  true  that  I  love  her,  but  I 
love  without  hope,  and  I  do  trust — though  per- 
haps you  may  not  believe  me  when  I  say  so — 
I  do  trust  that  she  does  not  love  me,  for  I  would 
not,  for  my  right  hand,  that  she  should  ever 
know  the  bitterness  of  such  hopeless  passion." 

"  But  why  hopeless? "  demanded  the  priest, 
and  paused  for  an  answer. 

The  young  man  gazed  upon  him  in  sur- 
prise, almost  amounting  to  irritation ;  for  deep 
feeling,  except  when  it  is  so  intense  as  to  lose 
all  sense  of  external  things,  will  not  bear  to  be 
trifled  with,  and  he  thought  the  old  man  was 
jesting  with  his  passion. 

"Why  hopeless!"  he  exclaimed  at  length. 
"  By  difference  of  station,  by  difference  of 
wealth,  by  all  the  cold  respects  and  icy  man- 
dates of  the  world.     Who  am  I,  Father,  that  I 


EHRENSTEIN.  27 

should  dare  to  lift  my  eyes  to  the  daughter  of  a 
high  and  mighty  lord  like  this !  Noble  I  may 
be — you  have  told  me  so — but " 

"  As  noble  as  herself,"  replied  the  priest. 
'*  Nay,  if  blood  be  all,  higher  in  station.  True, 
fortune  has  not  befriended  you,  but  that  same 
goddess  was  ever  a  fickle  and  capricious  dame, 
and  those  she  raises  high  one  day  she  sinks  low 
the  next,  to  lift  up  others  in  their  stead.  How 
many  a  mighty  lord  has  been  pulled  from  his 
chair  of  state,  to  end  his  days  in  dungeons.  We 
have  heard  of  emperors  confined  to  a  poor  cell, 
and  of  princes  and  heroes  begging  their  bread. 
The  time  may  come,  boy,  when  upon  your  arm 
may  hang  the  fortunes  of  that  lady's  house, 
when  to  you  she  may  cling  for  protection  and 
support ;  and  the  sun  that  now  shines  for  her 
father,  may  shine  for  you." 

Ferdinand  shook  his  head  with  a  desponding 
smile,  as  if  it  were  nigh  a  mockery  to  talk  of 
such  things.  "  Whence  should  those  golden 
days  come,  Father?"  he  asked.  "  Even  oppor- 
tunity, the  great  touchstone  of  the  heart  and 
mind,  the  gate  of  all  success,  the  pathway  of 


28  EHRENSTEIN. 

ambition,  love,  and  hope,  is  closed  and  barred 
to  me.  But  yesterday — it  seems  but  yesterday 
— I  was  her  father's  page ;  and  a  day  earlier,  a 
boy  running  through  the  abbey  grounds,  under 
your  kind  care  and  good  instruction — the  ob- 
ject of  your  bounty,  of  your  charity,  I  do 
believe ^" 

'*  Nay,  not  so,"  exclaimed  the  priest,  quickly; 
*'  you  had  your  little  store  of  wealth  when  you 
fell  to  my  charge,  Ferdinand.  I  have  doled  it 
out  as  I  thought  best  in  your  nurture  and 
education,  but  I  have  still  some  remaining-, 
which  I  have  invested  for  you  in  land  near  the 
abbey,  and  am  ready  to  account  for  all.  But 
still,  even  if  all  were  as  you  say,  I  see  not  why 
you  should  be  in  so  hopeless  a  mood ;  all  ladies 
may  be  won,  all  difficulties  overcome.  There 
is  a  chance  given  to  every  man  in  life,  his  be 
the  fault  if  he  do  not  seize  it." 

''  The  distance  is  too  far.  Father,"  answered 
the  young  man.  *'  I  have  often,  when  I  was  a 
boy,  stood  and  looked  at  the  sun  rising  through 
the  clouds,  and  when  a  bright,  broad  ray  has 
travelled  forth  like  a  pall  laid  for  some  em- 


EHRENSTEIN.  29 

peror's  tread,  stretching  from  the  golden  canopy- 
hung  over  the  ascending  monarch  of  the  day, 
and  reaching  well  nigh  to  my  feet,  I  have 
almost  thought  that  I  could  tread  upon  it, 
and  wend  my  way  to  heaven.  But  such 
fancies  have  passed  now,  Father  ;  such  suns  no 
longer  shine  for  me ;  and  in  the  broad,  harsh 
noonday  of  manhood,  I  dream  such  dreams  no 
more." 

"  But  you  dream  others  no  less  bright,  Fer- 
dinand," replied  the  priest.  "  Visions  of 
triumph  in  the  field,  and  mighty  deeds,  and 
great  renown,  and  service  to  the  State,  and 
beauty's  smile ;  fame,  happiness,  and  joy,  float 
even  now  before  your  eyes,  and  those  visions 
may  prove  true.  Did  I  want  proof  that  such 
things  still  are  busy  in  your  heart,  your  very 
gay  and  flowery  words  would  show  them  to 
me.  I  am  the  last  to  bid  you  banish  them,  my 
son;  when  well  directed  and  kept  within  reason- 
able bounds,  they  are  often  the  harbingers  of 
great  success." 

"But  who  shall  direct  them  for  me?"  asked 
his  young  companion,  who  had  heard  encourage- 


30  EHRENSTEIN. 

ment  so  little  expected  with  evident  marks 
of  surprise ;  "  who  shall  fix  the  bounds  to  be 
called  reasonable  ?  To  me  most  of  those  dreams 
seem  foolish,  especially  that  which  is  sweetest." 

"  I  will  direct,  if  you  will  let  me,"  answered 
the  priest.  "  I  will  fix  the  bounds ;  and  to  be- 
gin, I  tell  you  that  the  hope  you  fancy  the  most 
visionary  is  the  least  so.  But  leave  the  matter 
to  me,  my  dear  Ferdinand ;  follow  my  counsel, 
and  Adelaide  shall  be  yours,  and  that  speedily." 

*'  Oh,  Father!"  exclaimed  the  young  man, 
stretching  forth  his  hand,  and  grasping  that  of 
the  priest,  "  do  not — do  not,  I  beseech  you, 
raise  in  me  such  hopes,  if  there  be  a  probability 
of  their  failure." 

''  There  is  none,"  replied  Father  George. 
"  Pursue  the  course  before  you  boldly ;  seek 
her  resolutely,  though  calmly  and  secretly ;  tell 
her  of  your  love ;  win  her  confidence,  gain 
whatever  ascendency  you  can  over  her  mind, 
and  leave  all  the  rest  to  me." 

"  But,  Father,  what  will  be  said  of  my 
honour,  when  all  is  discovered,  as  it  must  be?" 
rejoined  the  young  man.     "  What  torrents  of 


EHRENSTEIN.  31 

reproach  will  fall  upon  me, —  what  disgrace,  what 
indignity,  will  not  be  heaped  upon  me  !  Dan- 
ger I  do  not  fear,  death  itself  I  would  en- 
counter, but  for  the  chance  of  possessing  her ; 
but  shame — I  cannot  bear  shame,  Father." 

"  Think  you,  my  son,"  asked  the  priest, 
somewhat  sternly,  "  that  I  would  counsel  you 
to  anything  that  is  disgraceful  ?  I  only  advise 
you  to  caution  and  secrecy,  because  you  would 
meet  with  opposition  in  the  outset.  Have  no 
fear,  however,  as  to  the  result.  I  will  justify 
you  fully.  I  have  told  you  that  you  are  her 
equal  in  birth,  if  not  at  present  in  wealth ;  that 
you  have  a  right  to  seek  her  hand ;  nay,  more, 
that  if  your  heart  goes  with  it,  it  is  expedient 
both  for  you  and  her  that  you  should  do  so." 

"  This  is  all  a  mystery  to  me,"  replied  the 
young  man,  thoughtfully. 

*'  Ay,"  answered  the  priest ;  "  but  there  are 
many  mysteries  in  this  life,  which  it  is  well 
not  to  scan.  However,  if  there  be  blame,  your 
blame  be  upon  me.  Still,  it  is  right  that  you 
should  be  able  to  show  that  you  have  not 
yielded  to  mere  passion  ;  and  before  you  go,  I 


32  ESRENSTEIN. 

will  give  you,  under  my  hand,  authority  for 
vihat  you  do,  for  you  must  neither  doubt  nor 
hesitate." 

"  I  do  not  hesitate,  Father,"  said  Ferdinand, 
with  a  smile.  ''  Heaven  knows  that  my  heart 
prompts  me  only  too  eagerly  to  follow  such 
pleasant  counsel.  I  will  go  on,  then ;  but  you 
must  be  ever  ready  to  advise  and  assist  me ;  for, 
remember,  I  am  working  in  the  dark,  and  may 
need  aid  and  direction  in  a  thousand  difficult 
circumstances,  which  neither  I  nor  you  foresee." 

"Advice  shall  be  ever  at  your  command," 
answered  Father  George,  "and  aid,  stronger 
and  better  than  perhaps  you  expect ;  only  pur- 
sue implicitly  the  course  I  point  out,  and  I 
will  be  answerable  for  the  end.  Now  let  us 
talk  of  other  things.  How  goes  the  party  at 
the  castle — well  and  cheerfully  ?" 

"  Nay,"  replied  the  young  man,  "  never  very 
cheerful,  good  Father.  The  Count,*  you  know, 
is  not  of  a  merry  disposition." 

*  I  shall  adopt  the  word  Count  instead  of  Graff,  as  the 
English  translation  of  the  title ;  and  shall  also  follow  through- 
out the  same  course  with  regard  to  other  honorary  designa- 
tions, as  more  convenient. 


EHRENSTEIN.  33 

*'No,  indeed,"  said  the  priest,  "he  never 
was  so,  even  from  a  youth ;  a  dark,  stern  heart 
throws  its  shadow  far  around,  as  a  bright  and 
benevolent  one  casts  light  on  everything.  He's 
a  very  different  man  from  his  brother,  the  last 
Count,  who  was  cheerfulness  itself,  full  of  gay 
jest  and  merry  happiness,  looking  lightly  and 
mirthfully  upon  all  indifferent  things,  yet  not 
without  due  reverence  and  feeling  for  the 
essential  duties  of  a  Catholic  Christian  and  a 
man.  Ah,  those  were  merry  days  at  the 
old  castle,  then.  The  board  was  always  well 
filled  in  the  great  hall ;  good  meat,  good  wine, 
gay  guests,  and  pleasant  talk — in  which  the 
noble  lord  himself  still  led  others  on  to  enjoy, 
and  seemed  to  find  a  pleasure  in  their  pleasure 
— those  were  things  always  to  be  found  where 
there  is  now  nothing  but  gloom,  and  state,  and 
cold  service.  There  were  no  ghosts  then,  Fer- 
dinand ;  no  spirits  but  cheerful  ones  haunted 
hall  or  bower;" — and  the  old  man  fell  into  a  fit 
of  thought,  seeming  to  ponder  pleasantly  upon 
the   times    past,   though   they   might  contrast 

VOL.    I.  D 


34  EHRENSTEIN. 

themselves  in  his  mind  with  the  darker  aspect 
of  the  present. 

Ferdinand  also  remained  thoughtful  for 
several  minutes,  but  then  rose,  saying,  "  I  must 
be  wending  my  way  homeward,  Father,  though 
I  doubt  I  shall  hardly  find  it,  as  I  have  now  no 
lamp,  and  those  vaults  are  intricate.'' 

''  Stay  a  while,  stay  a  while,"  answered  Father 
George,  "the  storm  will  not  last  long,  and  I 
will  go  with  you.  No  spirits  will  show  them- 
selves in  my  presence,  I  am  sure." 

'^  Oh,  I  fear  them  not  now,"  replied  Fer- 
dinand; "such  hopes  as  you  have  given  me 
to-night.  Father,  will  be  a  spell  to  lay  them." 

The  old  man  smiled,  well  knowing  that,  not- 
withstanding the  boast,  his  young  companion 
would  not  at  all  object  to  his  company ;  but  he 
merely  replied,  "  I  will  take  my  lantern,  youth ; 
for  without  a  light  you  might  lose  yourself  in 
the  caves,  as  some  have  done  before  you. 
Look  out,  and  see  how  the  sky  appears.  The 
thunder  has  ceased,  I  think," 

The  young  man  opened  the  door,  and  took 


EHRENSTEIN.  35 

a  step  forth,  and  then  returning,  said,  "  It 
lightens  still,  but  faintly ;  and  it  rains  a  little. 
It  will  soon  be  over  though,  I  think;"  and 
seating  himself  again,  he  spent  about  half  an 
hour  more  in  conversation  with  the  priest.  At 
the  end  of  that  time,  the  rain  having  ceased, 
they  set  out  together  for  the  castle,  while  the 
faint  flashes  of  the  electric  fluid,  with  which  the 
air  was  still  loaded,  gleamed  over  the  sky  from 
time  to  time,  and  a  distant  roar  to  the  west- 
ward told  that  the  storm  was  visiting  other 
lands.  It  was  a  toilsome  journey  up  the  steep 
ascent,  rendered  slippery  by  the  wet,  for  a 
man  of  Father  George's  years,  but  he  bore  up 
stoutly,  and  at  length  they  reached  the  en- 
trance of  the  crypt  below  the  chapel.  Pushing 
the  door  open  boldly,  the  old  man  went  in, 
and  advancing  some  twenty  or  thirty  steps, 
held  up  the  lantern  and  looked  round.  Nothing 
was  to  be  seen,  however,  and  no  sound  but  the 
fall  of  their  own  footsteps  reached  the  ear  of 
either  of  the  two  wanderers,  as  they  pursued 
their  way  through  the  chapel-vaults  and  the 
excavations   in    the   rock   against   which    the 

d2 


36  EHRENSTEIN. 

building  was  raised.  In  the  midst  of  what  was 
called  the  Serfs'  Burying-place,  however,  close 
by  the  spot  where  the  skeleton  was  chained  to 
the  column,  Father  George  paused,  and  gazed 
for  an  instant  at  the  sad  sight  which  it  pre- 
sented. "  Ah,  poor  fellow  ! "  he  said,  "  they 
bound  him  there,  and  strangled  him  against 
the  pillar,  for  murdering  his  master,  the  last 
Count,  when  fighting  far  away ;  but  to  the  last 
he  declared,  that  whatever  hand  had  done  it, 
it  was  not  his  act — and  I  believed  him,  for  he 
loved  the  Count  well,  and  the  Count  loved 
him.  'T  is  twenty  years  ago,  and  yet  see  how 
the  bones  hold  together.  Come  on,  my  son ;  I 
will  see  you  to  the  hall  door,  and  then  leave 
you." 

Ferdinand,  who  was  not  at  all  partial  to  a 
prolonged  stay  in  the  vaults,  readily  followed, 
and  when  they  reached  the  little  door  that 
led  into  the  hall,  the  good  priest  remarked, 
with  a  quiet  smile,  ''  We  have  seen  no  ghosts, 
my  son,  nor  heard  them  either." 

"  True,  Father,  true,"  rephed  the  young 
man ;   "  but  those  who  have  heard  and  seen 


EHRENSTEIN.  37 

must  believe.  I  trust  that  you  may  pass  back 
as  unmolested  as  we  came." 

"  I  fear  not,  Ferdinand,"  answered  Father 
George ;  "  and  what  is  more,  you  must  also 
shake  off  all  apprehensions;  for  in  order  to  win 
her  you  love,  you  may  have  often  to  tread 
these  same  paths." 

"  If  there  were  a  devil  in  every  niche,  Fa- 
ther," replied  Ferdinand,  '^  I  would  face  them 
all  for  her  sake." 

**  Well,  well,  good-night,"  said  the  priest, 
shaking  his  head :  "  love  is  the  religion  of  a 
young  man,  and  if  it  lead  him  not  to  wrong,  it 
may  lead  him  to  things  higher  than  itself. 
Keep  the  key  as  a  treasure,  good  youth,  for  it 
may  prove  one  to  you  in  case  of  need." 

Thus  saying,  the  old  man  suiFered  him  to 
light  his  lamp  at  the  lantern,  which  was  not 
done  without  difficulty,  as  the  drops  of  rain  had 
somewhat  wetted  the  wick ;  and  ere  Ferdinand 
had  reached  the  opposite  end  of  the  hall,  after 
leaving  the  priest,  his  light  was  extinguished 
again,  and  he  had  to  feel  his  way  to  his  own 
chamber,  along  the   dark  corridors  and  stair- 


38  EHRENSTEIN. 

cases  of  the  building.  He  was  wet  and  tired, 
but  he  felt  no  inclination  to  sleep,  even  though 
darkness  continued  for  more  than  one  hour 
after  he  had  returned  to  the  castle.  There  was 
a  brighter  light  in  his  heart  than  that  of  morning, 
and  in  it  the  new-born  hopes  sported  hke  gay- 
children  at  their  play.  The  hour  passed  away; 
and  having  cast  off  his  wet  garments,  the  youth 
lay  down  for  a  few  minutes  on  the  bed,  but  half 
dressed,  thinking — "  I  will  sleep  if  I  can ;  for  it 
is  better  they  should  accuse  me  of  late  rising 
than  see  from  my  pillow  that  it  has  not  been 
pressed  all  night.  But  sleep,  like  all  the 
pleasant  things  of  life,  will  not  come  for  much 
seeking.  In  vain  he  shut  his  eyes;  the  grey 
light  of  dawn  found  its  way  between  the  lashes, 
sounds  were  heard  in  the  castle,  showing  that 
some  of  the  inferior  attendants  had  risen ;  and 
the  night  watch  was  relieved  under  the  window 
of  the  tower  in  which  he  slept.  A  moment 
after,  however,  came  another  noise;  a  distant 
horn  sounded,  there  was  a  cry  of  dogs  borne 
from  a  distance  on  the  air ;  and  with  all  the 
quick  temerity  of  aristocratic  blood  in  regard  to 


EHRENSTEIN.  39 

the  sports  of  the  field,  the  youth  started  up  on 
his  couch  and  listened.  Again  the  deep  melo- 
dious music  of  hound  and  horn  was  heard,  and 
bounding  from  his  bed,  he  threw  open  the  case- 
ment and  called  to  the  guard,  asking — "  Is  the 
Count  abroad  ?" 

The  answer  was  in  the  negative,  and  throw- 
ing on  hastily  the  rest  of  his  dry  clothes,  the 
youth  rushed  out  as  if  to  combat  an  enemy. 


40  EHRENSTEIN. 


CHAPTEE  III. 

The  morning  rose  bright  and  beautiful  after 
the  storm,  shining  down  the  valley ,5  glittering 
on  the  stream,  and  illuminating  the  castle. 
High  on  its  rock,  from  the  base  of  which, 
steep  and  rugged  as  it  was,  stretched  forth 
about  a  mile  of  more  gradual  descent,  broken 
and  undulating,  thickly  covered  with  trees, 
and  here  and  there  presenting  a  large  mass  of 
fallen  stone,  looking  like  the  wall  of  some 
outwork,  decayed  by  time,  and  garmented 
with  moss.  The  whole  surface  on  the  summit 
of  the  hill  was  crowned  with  walls  and  towers, 
and  such  was  the  commanding  situation  which 
they  occupied,  that  in  days  when  the  science 
of  warfare,  though  often  practised,  was  but 
little  known,  it  might  well   seem  a   hopeless 


EHRENSTEIN.  41 

task  to  attempt  to  take  that  castle  by  any 
means  but  famine.  On  a  lower  point,  or  what 
may  be  called  a  step  in  the  rock,  appeared  a 
very  beautiful  and  graceful  building,  the  lower 
part  of  which  displayed  strong  masonry,  and 
manifold  round  arches  filled  up  with  stone  ; 
while  in  the  upper,  the  lighter  architecture  of  a 
later  period  was  seen,  in  thin  buttresses  and 
tall  pointed  windows,  pinnacles,  and  mouldings, 
and  fretwork.  Built  against  the  steep  side  of 
the  cliff  below  the  castle,  there  seemed  at  first 
sight  no  path  to  this  chapel  but  from  the 
fortress  above,  with  which  it  was  connected  by 
a  few  steps,  flanked  by  a  low  square  tower ; 
but  to  the  eye  of  a  traveller,  riding  or  walk- 
ing along  the  ridge  of  hills  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  valley,  glimpses  of  a  path  dis- 
played themselves,  winding  in  and  out  amongst 
the  wood ;  and  somewhat  more  than  lialf-way 
down  the  hill  appeared  a  small  edifice,  in  the 
same  style  of  architecture  as  the  upper  story 
of  the  castle  chapel. 

On  that  opposite  ridge  of  hills  was  another 
stronghold,  or  rather  what  had  been  so,  for 


42  EHRENSTEIN. 

at  the  time  I  speak  of,  it  was  already  in  ruins ; 
— and  down  below,  on  either  hand,  swept  an 
ocean  of  green  boughs,  covering  the  declivi- 
ties of  the  hills,  and  leaving  a  narrow  track  of 
little  more  than  half  a  mile  in  breadth  for 
verdant  meadows,  hamlets,  and  a  small  but 
beautiful  stream.  Following  the  course  of  the 
little  river,  the  eye  rested,  at  about  two  miles 
distance,  upon  the  towers  and  pinnacles  of  a 
large  building,  half  concealed  in  wood ;  and 
from  the  walls  thereof,  at  the  hours  appointed 
for  the  various  services  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church,  might  be  heard  the  great  bell  of  the 
abbey,  swinging  slow  upon  the  breeze  the  call 
to  prayer. 

Beyond  the  abbey  and  the  woods  that  sur- 
rounded it,  a  world  of  hill  and  valley  was 
descried,  with  rocks  tossed  in  wild  confusion 
here  and  there,  taking  every  different  variety 
of  form — now  like  a  giant  sitting  on  the  side 
of  a  hill,  now  like  the  ruined  wall  of  some  old 
fortress,  now  like  a  column  raised  to  com- 
memorate some  great  event,  now  like  the 
crest    of   a  warrior's    helmet,    plumed   with 


EHRENSTEIN.  43 

feathery  trees ;  they  offered  to  imagination 
infinite  materials  for  the  sport  of  fancy. 
All  the  hollows,  too,  except  those  directly 
facing  the  east,  were  filled  with  mists  and 
shadows,  while  the  tops  of  the  mountains,  the 
higher  crags,  the  old  ruins,  and  the  steeple  of 
a  distant  church,  rose  as  if  from  the  bosom  of 
a  dim  and  gloomy  ocean. 

Such  was  the  aspect  of  the  scene  about  an 
hour  after  daybreak,  and  all  was  yet  in  the 
stillness  of  the  early  morning ;  not  a  sound 
was  heard  save  the  whistle  of  some  one  of  the 
peasantry  going  to  his  work  in  the  fields,  or 
the  lowing  of  the  cattle  driven  down  to  the 
stream  to  drink,  when  suddenly  the  whole 
valley  rang  with  a  wild  and  peculiar  clang. 
The  sound  of  horns  winded  loud  and  clear, 
the  trampling  of  horses'  feet  in  full  career,  the 
loud  tongues  of  dogs,  the  shouts  and  calls  of 
huntsmen,  echoed  along  the  steep  opposite  to 
Ehrenstein,  sweeping  on  fiercely  through  the 
woods,  apparently  from  the  dilapidated  walls 
of  the  old  stronghold  towards  the  abbey  below. 
On,   on  went  the  sounds  increasingly,  as  if 


44  EHRENSTEIN. 

some  beast  had  made  its  burst  from  the  wood, 
and  was  hotly  pursued  by  the  hounds ;  but 
nothing  appeared  beyond  the  green  branches. 
Neither  dogs,  nor  huntsmen,  nor  horses,  were 
visible  to  the  watcher  on  the  walls  of  the 
castle,  though  many  a  break  in  the  forest,  and 
an  open  piece  of  road,  ought  to  have  given 
him  glimpses  of  the  chase,  if  it  took  the  course 
which  the  sounds  seemed  to  indicate. 

There  were  two  peasants,  however,  wending 
their  way  from  the  hamlet  near  the  abbey, 
towards  a  vineyard  which  lay  on  the  other  side 
of  the  hills,  and  as  their  road  lay  through  the 
wood,  they  soon  heard  the  noise  come  rushing 
on  towards  them.  Both  stopped  at  once,  and 
drew  a  little  out  of  the  direct  path,  the  one 
saying,  "  The  Count  is  hunting  early  in  the 
year ;"  the  other  exclaiming,  "  Come  away 
man — come  away.     This  is  not  the  Count." 

The  next  instant  the  whole  hunt  swept  by, 
and  the  two  men  drew  back  in  terror;  for, 
instead  of  the  forest  green  or  the  gay  phili- 
mot,  the  dresses  of  the  hunters  were  all  as 
black  as  night,  and  at  their  head  ro        • 


EHRENSTEIN.  45 

man,  magnified  by  tlieir  fancy  to  gigantic 
stature,  clothed  from  head  to  heel  in  arms  of 
the  same  sombre  hue.  The  men  fell  down 
upon  their  knees,  and  scarcely  dared  to  raise 
their  eyes;  and  when  one  of  them  did  so, 
he  saw  the  strange  leader  of  that  dark  array 
shaking  his  gauntlet  at  him  with  a  menacing 
gesture. 

In  a  few  seconds  all  were  gone,  and  the  two 
peasants  stood  trembling,  while  the  sounds  died 
away  in  the  distance. 

"  We  shall  have  war  within  a  twelvemonth," 
said  the  one. 

"Ay,  that  we  shall,"  answered  the  other. 
"  I  never  thought  to  see  the  black  huntsman 
with  my  own  eyes.  Let  us  go  and  tell  the 
Count;  for  he  will  need  to  prepare.  The  castle 
is  getting  ruinous ;  and  there  is  neither  much 
wine  nor  much  corn  in  the  neighbourhood." 

"  No,  no  ;  to  the  abbey — to  the  abbey,  man," 
rejoined  his  companion.  "  It 's  there  we  owe 
our  duty  ;  we  are  not  the  Count's  men." 

"  Ay,  but  the  Count  may  give  us  a  crown 
for  the  news,"  answered  the  other  ;  "  from  the 


46  EHRENSTEIN. 

monks    we  shall  have    nothing   but  a    bene" 
diciteJ* 

**  Well,  wait  a  little,  wait  a  little,"  was  the 
reply.  "  You  know  it  is  dangerous  to  follow 
him  too  close." 

"  Ay,  that 's  true,"  replied  the  first  speaker  ; 
"  and  he  shook  his  fist  at  me  as  he  passed,  for 
just  daring  to  look  up  at  him.  Let  us  sit  down 
here  for  a  while." 

The  other  agreed,  and  the  two  men,  seating 
themselves,  continued  to  converse  for  about 
a  quarter  of  an  hour.  The  one,  to  make  him- 
self agreeable,  prophesying  that  his  friend,  to 
whom  the  Black  Huntsman  had  given  so 
menacing  a  sign  of  notice,  would  be  forced 
to  go  to  the  wars,  and  never  return  alive ;  the 
other,  though  in  no  little  dread,  endeavouring 
to  persuade  himself  and  his  comrade  that  no 
such  result  would  or  should  ensue. 

"  I  will  never  be  killed  in  the  wars,"  he  said ; 

"  for  I  won't  go.     I  would  sooner  shave  my 

head,  sell  all  I  've  got,  and  become  a  serving 

brother  in  the  abbey." 

"  Then  they  11  pillage  the  abbey,  and  you  '11 


EHRENSTEIN.  47 

be  killed/'  rejoined  his  companion,  who  was 
determined,  it  would  seem,  that  the  other  should 
not  take  any  false  hope  to  his  bosom.  ^'  Hark, 
here  they  are  coming  again ! " 

Both  started  up,  and  were  about  to  plunge 
into  the  wood,  when,  spurring  on  at  fiery  speed, 
and  followed  by  two  or  three  soldiers  half- 
armed,  appeared  a  young  cavalier,  with  his 
eyes  so  eagerly  bent  forward  that  he  did  not 
seem  to  perceive  the  two  peasants,  till  one  of 
them  exclaimed,  "  It 's  no  use  following.  Master 
Ferdinand  ;  he's  gone  far  enough  now  !" 

"  He  !"  exclaimed  the  young  man  ;  "  who  is 
he,  boor — do  you  know  him  ?  Who  is  it  dares 
to  hunt  in  our  lord's  lands?  If  I  caught  him, 
he  should  pay  dearly." 

"  Ah,  Master  Ferdinand  of  Altenburg,  he  is 
one  who  would  make  you  pay  more  likely ;  but, 
luckily  for  you,  you  can  neither  cross  nor  catch 
him — it  was  the  Black  Huntsman  and  his  train. 
We  saw  him  with  our  own  eyes,  and  you 
may  go  back  and  tell  the  Count  to  prepare  for 
war.  Twelve  months  will  not  pass  from  this 
day  before  there  are  armies  warring  here.   Tell 


48  EHRENSTEIN. 

him  that  old  Werner  says  so  ;  and  I  have  lived 
years  enough  to  know  what  I  am  talking  about.'* 

"  The  Black  Huntsman  ! "  exclaimed  Ferdi- 
nand, holding  in  his  horse,  which  was  strug- 
gling forward.  "  And  did  you  see  him,  say 
you — both  of  you  1 " 

"  Ay,  both  of  us,"  answered  the  old  man. 
"  And  he  shook  his  fist  at  Wettstein  here,  just 
because  he  looked  at  him  a  little  too  sharply." 

"The  Black  Huntsman!"  cried  Ferdinand, 
again.  "  I  never  before  knew  any  one  who 
saw  him.     What  was  he  like,  Werner  ?" 

"  He  seemed  to  me  ten  foot  high  ! "  exclaimed 
Wettstein,  joining  in  ;  "  and  his  horse  big 
enough  to  bear  him." 

*'  Nay,  nay,  not  ten  foot,"  cried  Werner ; 
"  eight  he  might  be,  or  eight  and  a  half — and 
all  in  black  from  head  to  heel.  I  did  not  see  a 
white  spot  about  him,  or  his  horse  either. 
Did  you,  Wettstein?" 

"  Not  a  freckle  as  big  as  a  pea,"  replied  his 
comrade. 

"  Here 's  a  mighty  great  horse's  footmark, 
to  be  sure,"  said  one  of  the  soldiers,  who  had 


EHRENSTEIN.  49 

dismounted,  and  was  examining  the  ground. 
*'  I  think,  sir,  you  had  better  go  back  and  tell 
our  lord,  for  he  '11  be  glad  to  know  of  this." 

The  young  man  mused  without  reply  for  a 
moment  or  two,  and  then  turning  his  horse, 
rode  back  towards  the  castle,  halting  from  time 
to  time  to  listen  for  the  sounds  of  the  hunt. 
All  had  now  ceased,  however ;  the  valley  had 
returned  to  its  stillness,  and  nothing  but  the 
breeze  sighing  through  the  trees  was  heard,  as 
Ferdinand  and  his  followers  rode  up  the  oppo- 
site hill. 

A  number  of  men  were  collected  under  the 
arched  gateway  of  the  castle,  and  several  horses 
stood  ready  saddled  near,  but  before  them 
all  appeared  a  tall,  dark-looking  personage, 
somewhat  past  the  middle  age,  but  still  in  full 
vigour,  with  a  stern  and  somewhat  forbidding- 
countenance.  The  expression  was  sharp,  but 
not  lofty,  morose  rather  than  firm,  and  as 
Ferdinand  rode  up  and  sprang  to  the  ground, 
he  exclaimed,  "  Ha,  who  are  they,  boy  ?  Or 
have  you  turned  back  from  laziness  or  fear, 
without  having  found  them  ?" 

VOL.    I.  E 


60  EHRENSTEIN. 

Ferdinand's  cheek  grew  red,  and  he  re- 
plied, "  If  I  had  been  fearful  or  lazy,  my  lord, 
I  should  have  waited  for  orders  ere  I  went  to 
seek  them ;  but  when  we  reached  the  road 
leading  to  Lindenau,  the  sounds  were  scarcely 
to  be  heard,  and  we  met  Werner  and  Wett- 
stein  in  the  wood,  who  told  us  that  it  was  the 
Black  Huntsman." 

"Ay,  ay,"  exclaimed . the  Count,  moodily; 
"doubtless  the  Black  Huntsman.  There  is 
never  a  cry  of  hounds  across  the  land,  but,  if 
you  believe  the  peasants,  it  is  the  Black 
Huntsman.  They  are  in  league  with  the 
robbers  of  my  deer  and  boars.  The  swine- 
fed  rascals  have  their  share,  no  doubt." 

"  But,  my  lord  Count,"  replied  one  of  the 
soldiers  who  had  accompanied  Ferdinand, 
"  this  time  the  men  saw  him,  and  he  shook 
his  fist  at  Wettstein  for  daring  to  look  at  him 
too  close.  Besides,  old  Werner  is  not  a  man 
to  lie  about  it." 

"  Werner  and  Wettstein !"  said  the  Count, 
*'  who  are  they  1  We  have  a  hundred  of 
such  hogs  in  the  valley." 


EHRENSTEIN.  51 

"  They  are  men  of  the  abbey,  my  good 
lord,"  replied  Ferdinand  ;  "  and  at  all  events, 
they  were  both  in  the  same  story,  and  told  it 
at  once.  One  of  our  men,  too, — it  was  you, 
Karl,  was  it  not  ? — saw  the  hoof-marks  much 
larger  than  the  common  size." 

"  Ay,  that  I  did,"  replied  the  man ;  "  as 
big  as  any  two  in  the  stable.  My  lord  can 
see  them  too,  if  he  doubts  it." 

**  I  will,"  replied  the  Count,  sternly ;  and 
without  more  ado  he  turned  into  the  castle, 
leaving  the  rest  to  follow  to  the  morning  meal. 

Contrary  to  a  very  common  practice  of  the 
day,  when  most  of  those  who  were  qualified 
to  bear  arms  were  considered  fit  to  sit  at  the 
table  of  their  lords,  the  Count  of  Ehrenstein 
usually  admitted  none  but  two  or  three  of  his 
chosen  followers  to  take  part  in  the  meal  at 
the  same  board  with  himself  and  his  daughter. 
The  large  hall,  of  which  we  have  already 
spoken,  had  been  long  disused,  and  a  smaller 
one,  fully  large  enough,  indeed,  for  the  dimi- 
nished number  of  retainers  which  the  castle 
now  contained,  was  divided  into  two  unequal 
E   2 


0-  OF  ILL  LIB. 


62  EHRENSTEIN. 

parts  by  a  step,  which  raised  the  table  of  the 
lord  above  that  of  his  vassals.  It  was  to  this 
hall  he  now  took  his  way,  moving  slowly  on- 
ward with  a  heavy  step  and  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
ground,  till,  opening  the  door,  he  gazed  round 
it  for  a  moment,  and  his  face  lighted  up  with 
the  first  look  of  pleasure  it  had  displayed  that 
day,  as  his  eyes  rested  on  a  group  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  chamber.  From  the  midst 
of  that  group,  with  a  light  bounding  step, 
was  even  then  coming  forward  to  meet  him, 
as  beautiful  a  form  as  was  ever  beheld,  even 
by  a  father's  eyes ;  and  what  father  in  his 
heart  has  never  said,  when  gazing  on  his 
child  — 

'*  Du  nun  als  ein  Engel  schon  ?  " 

Young  she  was,  very  young — in  the  first  early 
bloom  of  youth,  and  wonderfully  fair — for  no 
marble  that  was  ever  hewn  by  the  most  fas- 
tidious sculptor's  hands,  was  whiter,  clearer, 
softer,  than  her  skin ;  and  yet  there  was  a 
glow  of  health  therein,  not  seeming  in  the 
skin  itself,  but  shining  through  it,  like  the 
rosy  light  of  morning   pouring  into  the  pale 


EHRENSTEIN.  53 

sky.  Her  eyes  could  hardly  be  called  blue, 
for  there  was  a  shade  of  some  other  colour  in 
them ;  but  the  long  black  lashes,  together 
with  the  strong  contrast  afforded  by  the  fair- 
ness of  her  face,  made  them  look  dark,  though 
soft,  till  one  approached  her  very  near.  Her 
dark  brown  hair,  too,  full  to  profusion,  looked 
almost  black  where  it  fell  upon  her  neck, 
notwithstanding  the  bright  golden  gleams 
that  shone  upon  the  wavy  clusters.  Round, 
yet  tapering,  every  limb  was  moulded  in  the 
most  beautiful  symmetry,  which  even  the  long 
line  of  floating  garments  from  the  hip  to  the 
heel  shadowed  withoutc  oncealing;  and,  as 
almost  always  happens,  perfection  of  form 
produced  grace  of  movement,  though  that 
grace  is  in  some  degree  dependent  also  upon 
the  spirit  within,  where  it  is  natural  and  not 
acquired.  Even  in  the  light,  quick,  bounding 
step  with  w^hich  she  sprang  to  meet  her  father, 
there  was  a  world  of  beauty,  though  it  was 
simply  the  unstudied  impulse  of  filial  affec- 
tion ;  and  for  an  instant,  as  I  have  said,  the 
very  sight  of  her  bright  countenance  dispelled 


54  EHRENSTEIN. 

the  gloom  upon  her  father's  face,  and  brought 
a  momentary  gleam  of  sunshine  over  it;  but 
the  grave,  hard  look  soon  returned,  and  taking 
her  hand  in  his,  he  led  her  on  to  the  upper 
table,  calling  to  him  two  of  his  old  ritters  or 
knights,  and  seated  them  beside  himself  and 
his  child. 

Ferdinand  of  Altenburg  was  about  to  take 
his  place  as  usual  at  the  other  board,  not 
judging  that  he  stood  at  all  high  in  the 
graces  of  his  lord ;  but  after  a  moment's 
consideration,  the  Count  beckoned  him  up, 
saying,  "Sit  there,  Ferdinand,"  and  then 
commenced  the  meal  in  silence.  Adelaide 
of  Ehrenstein  looked  down,  but  yet  a  mo- 
mentary light  shone  in  her  eyes,  and  a 
well-pleased  smile,  before  she  could  check 
it,  played  round  her  lip ;  and  then,  as  if  afraid 
that  the  pleasure  she  felt  should  be  marked  by 
too  watchful  eyes,  the  colour  glowed  warm  in 
her  cheek,  and  even  tinged  her  fair  brow. 
Oh,  those  traitrous  blushes,  how  often  they 
hang  out  the  flag  of  surrender,  when  the  gar- 
rison would  fain  hold  firm.     The  young  lover 


EHRENSTEIN.  55 

saw  the  look,  and  judged  it  rightly;  but  no 
one  else  seemed  to  remark  it;  and  while  he 
was  thinking  what  could  be  the  Count's  motive 
in  thus  honouring  him,  his  lord  raised  his  eyes 
heavily,  saying,  "  And  do  you  really  believe 
this  story  of  the  Wild  Huntsman,  Ferdinand?'* 

"  Nay,  my  lord,  I  know  not  what  to  think," 
replied  the  youth.  "  The  men  seemed  so 
frightened  themselves,  and  spoke  so  naturally, 
that  I  could  not  doubt  that  they  believed  it. 
Nevertheless,  if  I  could  have  heard  the  sounds 
any  more,  I  should  have  followed  to  see  this 
Black  Huntsman  with  my  own  eyes,  but  the 
noise  was  by  that  time  done." 

"  Would  you  not  have  feared  to  meet  him?" 
asked  the  Count,  with  a  smile. 

"  Not  I,  sir,"  answered  Ferdinand.  "  If  I 
find  any  one  hunting  on  my  lord's  lands,  I  will 
stop  him  and  ask  his  right,  be  he  black  or 
white.  But  we  could  never  catch  the  noise 
again — and  there  was  another  reason,  too,  that 
made  me  think  it  best  to  return  ;  the  old  man, 
Werner,  bade  me  tell  you  there  would  be  war 
within  a  year." 


56  EHRENSTEIN. 

"  And  so  there  will,"  replied  the  Count,  "  if 
it  be  truly  the  Black  Huntsman." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  replied  Ferdinand ; 
"  there  will  be  some  chance  of  honour  and 
distinction  then." 

The  Count's  brow  grew  dark.  "  Ay,  foolish 
youth,"  he  answered,  "  and  what  sums  of 
gold  will  have  to  be  spent,  what  fair  fields 
ruined,  what  crops  swept  away  !  " 

"  And  what  bloodshed  ! "  said  Adelaide,  in 
a  low  tone.  "  Oh,  my  father,  I  hope  it  will 
not  be ! " 

"  Bloodshed,  that's  but  a  small  matter," 
replied  her  father,  with  a  grim  smile.  "  It 
does  good  to  these  hot  youths  to  bleed  them. 
Is  it  not  so,  Sickendorf  ?" 

"  Ay,  my  lord,"  answered  the  old  knight  to 
whom  he  spoke  ;  "  and  as  to  the  gold  and  the 
crops,  that 's  no  great  matter  either.  Money 
must  be  spent,  soldiers  must  live;  and  it's  a 
pleasant  sight  to  see  a  troop  of  bold  fellows 
in  a  vineyard  swilling  the  fat  boor's  grapes. 
^■1  don't  let  them  burn  the  houses,  unless  there 's 
resistance;  for  there's    no   good   in  that,   if 


EHRENSTEIN.  67 

the   knaves   give   up   their  money   and   their 
food." 

Adelaide  was  silent,  but  as  she  gazed  down, 
with  her  beautiful  eyes  full  of  deep  thought, 
many  a  dark  image  of  spoliation  and  cruelty 
presented  itself  to  fancy  as  approaching  in 
the  train  of  war.  Her  father  was  silent  too ; 
for  he  knew  that  his  somewhat  unknightly 
love  of  gold  was  not  likely  to  raise  him  in  the 
opinion  of  his  followers  ;  but  at  length  he  said, 
"  Well,  then,  we  must  prepare,  at  all  events, 
Sickendorf,  if  this  be  the  Black  Huntsman." 

*'  Ay,  that  we  must,  my  good  lord,"  replied 
the  old  man.  "  He  never  comes  out  without 
being  sure  of  what  he 's  about.  I  remember 
when  I  was  in  the  Odenwalde,  with  the  lord  of 
Erlach,  looking  at  the  book  in  which  is  written 
down  each  time  he  has  gone  forth  for  these 
two  hundred  years — " 

"  And  you  couldn't  read  it  if  you  did  look," 
said  the  other  knight,  who  was  at  the  same 
table. 

"  Ay,  I  know  that,"  replied  Sickendorf; 
"  no  one  better;  so  I  made  the  sacristan  read  to 


58  EHRENSTEIN. 

me,  and  it  never  failed  once,  when  that  Black 
Horseman  went  forth,  or  when  the  cry  of  his 
dogs  was  heard,  that  there  was  war  within  a 
twelvemonth.  But  it  is  right  to  be  sure  that 
this  was  he ;  for  it  would  not  do  to  sit  here  with 
the  place  cooped  full  of  men,  fretting  ourselves 
for  a  year,  with  the  thought  of  a  brave  war 
coming,  and  then  for  none  to  come  after  all. 
We  should  be  obliged  to  have  a  feud  with 
some  friend,  just  to  give  the  men  something  to 
do.'* 

"True,  true,"  answered  the  Count,  with  a 
quick  assent ;  "  that  would  not  do  at  all, 
Sickendorf.  I  will  go  after  meat,  and  inquire 
more  into  the  affair." 

"  You  had  better  see  the  two  men,  my  Lord 
Count,"  said  Ferdinand.  "  I  will  fetch  them 
up  from  the  abbey  in  an  hour,  and  you  can 
question  them  yourself." 

"  No,  you  will  stay  where  you  are,  sir," 
replied  his  lord,  sharply  ;  "I  can  question 
them  myself  without  your  help.  I  will  see 
these  hoof-marks  too.  But  tell  me  more;  from 
the  sounds  I  heard  as  I  hurried  from  my  bed. 


EHRENSTEIN.  59 

there  must  have  been  a  whole  host  of  followers 
with  this  Black  Huntsman.  What  said  the 
man?" 

In  return,  Ferdinand  gave  as  good  an  ac- 
count as  he  could  of  all  that  had  occurred, 
though  he  had  little  to  add  to  what  he  had  told 
before.  He  neither  exaggerated  nor  coloured 
his  narrative,  but  with  the  vice  of  youth  he 
indulged  in  many  a  figure  to  express  his 
meaning,  as  was  indeed  somewhat  customary 
with  him ;  drawing  freely  upon  imagination  for 
the  language,  though  not  for  the  facts.  This 
mode,  however,  of  telling  his  tale,  did  not 
altogether  please  his  lord,  upon  whose  brow  an 
impatient  frown  gathered  fast.  But  Adelaide 
paid  his  flights  of  fancy  with  a  smile,  and  her 
father's  anger  was  averted  by  a  man  coming  in 
hastily  from  the  walls  to  announce  that  some 
one  who  seemed  a  messenger  was  riding  up  at 
full  speed  towards  the  castle. 

*'  Let  him  be  brought  in,"  replied  the  Count ; 
and  he  added,  with  a  laugh,  "  perhaps  this  may 
be  news  of  the  Black  Huntsman." 

Expectation  is  ever  a  silent  mood;  and  the 


60  EHRENSTEIN. 

meal  continued  ;  even  the  wine  circulated  with 
out  anything  more  being  said,  till  at  length  a 
man  dirty  with  hard  riding  through  a  country 
still  wet  with  the  storm  of  the  preceding  night, 
was  brought  in,  with  formal  ceremony,  by  two 
of  the  Count's  attendants,  and  led  to  the  table 
at  which  he  sat.  The  stranger  seemed  a 
simple  messenger  in  the  garb  of  peace,  and  in 
his  hand  he  bore  one  of  the  large  folded  letters 
of  the  day,  inscribed  with  innumerable  titles 
then  and  still  given  to  every  German  noble- 
man of  rank,  and  sealed  with  a  broad  seal  of 
yellow  wax, 

"Who  come  you  from?"  demanded  the 
Count,  before  he  opened  the  letter  which  the 
messenger  presented. 

"  From  the  high  and  mighty  prince.  Count 
Frederick  of  Leiningen,"  replied  the  man; 
"  who  bade  me  bear  this  letter  to  the  noble 
and  excellent  lord,  the  Count  of  Ehrenstein, 
his  old  and  valued  friend,  and  bring  him  back 
an  answer  speedily.'* 

"  Ah !  where  is  the  Count  ?  "  exclaimed  the 


EHRENSTEIN.  61 

lord  of  Ehrenstein ;   "  when   came  he   back  ? 
'Tis  many  a  year  since  we  have  met." 

"  He  stopped  last  night,  noble  sir,  at  an 
abbey  some  ten  miles  beyond  Zweibrucken, 
and  he  will  reach  that  place  this  day,"  replied 
the  messenger,  answering  only  one  of  the 
Count's  questions.  "  I  pray  you  read  the  letter 
and  let  me  have  my  answer." 

The  Count  cut  the  silk,  and,  unfolding  the 
paper,  read,  while  Sickendorf  commented  in  a 
low  tone,  with  words  of  admiration,  but  with 
something  like  a  sneer  upon  his  lip,  at  his 
lord's  learning,  which  enabled  him  to  gather 
easily  the  contents  of  what  seemed  a  some- 
what lengthy  epistle. 

"Ah,  this  is  good  news  indeed  !"  exclaimed 
the  Count,  at  length,  "  First,  that  I  should  see 
again  and  embrace  my  old  friend  and  comrade. 
Count  Frederick  ;"  and  he  bowed  his  head, 
not  ungracefully,  to  the  messenger.  "  Next, 
that  your  lord  has,"after  so  many  years,  collect- 
ed together  some  of  mypoor  brother's  wealth, 
which  he  went  to  cast  away  with  his  life  upon 
a  foreign  shore.    It  will  come  well,  Sickendorf, 


62  EHRENSTEIN. 

if  the  Black  Huntsman  make  his  promise  of 
war  good. — You,  sir,  take  some  refreshment, 
while  I  go  to  write  the  safe-conduct  which 
your  lord  requires.  Then  you  shall  spur  on,  as 
hastily  as  may  be ;  for,  if  not,  I  shall  overtake 
you  on  the  road.  Tell  the  mighty  Count,  that 
I  will  not  answer  his  letter  till  I  've  held  my 
old  friend  in  my  arms,  and  that  he  shall  see 
me  at  once  at  Zweibrucken  ere  two  hours  past 
noon."  Thus  saying,  he  rose  and  left  the  hall, 
and  while  Sickendorf  and  the  other  knight 
made  the  messenger  sit  down  at  the  lower 
table,  furnished  him  with  food  and  wine,  and 
questioned  him  eagerly  as  to  Count  Frederick's 
journey,  and  when  he  had  returned  from  east- 
ern lands,  Ferdinand  of  Altenburg  leaned 
across  the  table,  and  spoke  a  few  low  words  to 
Adelaide  of  Ehrenstein,  which  made  the  colour 
come  and  go  in  her  cheek,  as  if  some  strong 
emotions  were  busy  in  her  heart.  Whatever 
he  said,  indeed,  was  very  brief,  for  he  feared  to 
draw  the  notice  of  those  around  upon  them 
both ;  and  in  a  moment  after  he  had  ceased,  the 
Count  returned,  with  a  paper  in  his   hand. 


EHRENSTEIN.  63 

The  messenger  would  not  wait  to  finish  his 
meal,  but  retired  from  the  hall,  remounted 
his  horse,  and  spurred  on  his  way  back. 

As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  the  tables  were 
cleared,  and  orders  given  for  instant  prepara- 
tion, that  the  Count  might  set  out  to  meet  his 
friend,  with  all  the  state  and  display  that 
befitted  his  station.  Before  he  went,  he 
whispered  to  Sickendorf  to  bring  up  during 
his  absence,  all  the  vassals  from  the  neighbour- 
ing estates,  to  swell  the  number  of  retainers  in 
the  castle,  against  the  following  day;  to  sweep 
the  country  round  of  its  poultry,  eggs,  and 
fruit — a  pleasant  mark  of  paternal  affection 
which  the  peasantry  of  that  day  not  unfre- 
quently  received  from  their  lords  ;  and  to  pre- 
pare everything  for  one  of  those  scenes  of 
festivity  which  occasionally  chequered  the 
monotony  of  feudal  life  in  peaceful  times. 

Perdinand  of  Altenburg  stood  ready  to 
accompany  his  lord,  with  his  horse  saddled, 
and  his  gayest  garment  displayed,  never 
doubting  for  a  moment  that  he  was  to  form 
one  of  the  train.     No  sooner,  however,   had 


64  EHHENSTEIN. 

the  Count  done  speaking  to  the  old  knight,  than 
he  turned  towards  the  youth,  saying,  sharply, 
"  Did  I  not  tell  you  that  you  were  not  to 
go  ?  You  will  stay  and  guard  the  castle  while 
Sickendorf  is  absent,  and  go  no  farther  from 
it,  till  I  return,  than  the  stream  on  one  side, 
or  the  hamlet  on  the  other." 

The  tone  was  haughty  and  imperious ;  and 
Ferdinand  felt  his  heart  burn,  but  he  merely 
bowed,  and  took  a  step  back ;  the  Count,  fancy- 
ing that  he  had  mortified  him  by  leaving  him 
behind,  and  feeling  that  sort  of  bitter  pleasure 
which  harsh  men  find  in  giving  pain,  though, 
in  truth,  if  he  had  sought  to  consult  the  youth's 
most  anxious  wishes,  he  would  have  acted  just 
as  he  did  act.  What  was  to  Ferdinand,  Count 
Frederick  of  Leiningen  ?  What  cared  he  for 
the  meeting  of  two  haughty  lords  ?  In  the 
castle  of  Ehrenstein  remained  Adelaide ;  and 
where  she  was,  even  though  he  might  not  see 
her,  there  was  festival  for  him. 
1^  Adelaide  had  left  the  hall  while  the  pre- 
parations for  her  father's  journey  were  being 
made,  and  was  not  present  when  he  departed. 


EHRENSTEIN.  65 

Old  Sickendorf  bustled  about  for  nearly  half 
an  hour  after  the  Count  was  gone,  choosing 
out  men,  from  those  left  in  the  castle,  to  accom- 
pany him  upon  what  was  neither  more  nor 
less  than  a  marauding  expedition ;  and  he  then 
set  out  with  right  good  will  to  perform  a  part 
of  his  duty  which  he  loved  the  best.  Ferdi- 
nand of  Altenburg  watched  from  the  battle- 
ments of  one  of  the  towers  the  train  of  his 
lord,  as  it  crossed  the  valley  and  mounted  the 
opposite  hill,  and  then  fixing  his  eyes  on  the 
spot  where  the  road,  emerging  from  the  wood 
again,  wound  on  through  the  distant  country, 
continued  to  gaze  till  the  last  horseman  dis- 
appeared on  the  road  to  Zweibrucken.  He 
then  paced  up  and  down  till  Sickendorf  and 
his  people  also  were  gone,  and  then  paused, 
leaning  thoughtfully  against  the  wall,  as  if 
considering  what  was  next  to  be  done. 

The  world  is  full  of  thin  partitions,  moral 
and  physical,  so  slight,  so  feeble  in  appearance, 
that  one  would  think  they  would  fall  with  a 
touch,  but  often  more  strong  than  doors  of 
brass  or  iron  ;  and  like  the  airy  limits  of  two 

VOL.    I.  F 


66  EHRENSTEIN. 

hostile  countries,  they  are  full  of  dangers  to 
those  who  pass  them.  There,  in  the  same 
dwelling,  with  nought  between  him  and  her 
but  a  door  that  would  at  once  yield  to  his 
hand,  was  she  whom  he  loved.  His  heart  beat 
to  go  and  join  her ;  hers  he  fondly  hoped 
would  flutter  gladly  to  have  him  near ;  but  yet 
he  dared  not  go.  Surrounded  by  her  women, 
as  he  believed  she  was,  he  knew  that  the  risk 
of  such  a  step  would  be  great  to  all  his  future 
hopes ;  and  yet  he  asked  himself  again  and 
again,  if  he  must  lose  so  bright  an  oppor- 
tunity. It  might  never  return  ;  all  the  mani- 
fold chances  of  human  fate  presented  them- 
selves to  his  mind,  and  he  would  have  been 
less  than  a  lover,  if  he  had  not  resolved  to 
find  some  means  of  drawing  sweet  advantage 
from  the  golden  present.  How  ?  was  the  only 
question ;  and  after  long  thought,  he  descended 
slowly  by  the  steps  that  led  to  the  battlements 
beneath  the  lady's  window,  and  there  seating 
himself,  with  his  eyes  turned  over  the  distant 
country,  as  if  simply  whiling  away  an  idle 
hour,  he  sat  and  sang : — 


EHRENSTEIN.  67 

SOXG. 
"Wander  with  me,  loved  one,  loved  one, 
Wander  with  me  where  none  can  see  ; 
Through  the  wood, 
By  the  flood, 
Under  the  greenwood  tree. 

Wander  with  me,  loved  one,  loved  one. 
Wander  with  me  where  none  can  hear  ; 
Where  none  is  nigh, 
But  the  birds  that  fly, 
And  the  timid  and  silent  deer. 

Wander  with  me,  loved  one,  loved  one, 
"Wander  with  me  where  none  can  mark  ; 
Where  the  leaves  green. 
Our  love  shall  screen, 
In  their  bower  'twixt  light  and  dark. 

Wander  with  me,  loved  one,  loved  one, 
And  a  tale  to  thee  I  '11  tell, 
Which,  if  thy  heart 
With  mine  takes  part. 
Shall  please  thine  ear  right  well. 

As  he  ended,  the  casement,  which  was  partly 
open,  was  drawn  fully  back,  and  the  head  of 
a   gay,   light-hearted   girl,   one   of  Adelaide's 

F  2 


68  EHRENSTEIN. 

attendants,  was  thrust  forth  with  a  laughing 
countenance,  exclaiming,  *'  Get  ye  gone,  you 
vile  singer !  no  one  can  rest  in  peace  for  your 
harsh  voice.  Methought  it  was  a  raven  or  a 
daw  cawing  on  the  battlements,  and  our  lady 
cannot  read  her  missal  for  hearing  thee  talk 
of  thy  'loved  one,  loved  one.'" 

"  jNTay,  let  him  alone,"  said  Adelaide,  ad- 
vancing to  the  window ;  "  I  love  music.  Bertha ; 
'tis  that  thou  canst  not  sing  a  note  thyself 
that  makes  thee  jealous.  Sing  on,  if  thou 
wilt,  Ferdinand  ;  I  would  listen  to  you  with 
right  good  will,  but  that  I  promised  Father 
George  to  come  down  to  the  shrine  to-day; 
and  I  must  read  before  I  go." 

She  said  no  more,  and  did  not  even  look 
at  him  while  she  spoke,  but  the  gay  girl 
Bertha's  eyes  twinkled  with  an  arch  smile 
upon  her  lips,  as  if  she  guessed  more  than 
either  the  lady  or  her  lover  suspected.  Fer- 
dinand replied  little,  but  slowly  moved  away : 
and  in  about  ten  minutes  after  he  might  be 
seen  going  forth  from  the  castle  gates,  and 
taking  the  road  which  led  away  in  a  different 
direction  from  the  chapel  in  the  wood. 


EHRENSTEIN.  69 

The  reader  need  not  be  told  that  in  every 
portion  of  life,  in  all  life's  doings,  in  everything 
moral  and  physical,  there  are  circuitous  paths ; 
nor  that  nine  times  out  of  ten,  vrhen  a  man 
seems  to  be  doing  one  thing,  he  is  doing 
another.  It  is  a  sad  truth,  a  bitter  dark 
reality  ;  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  those  vrho 
have  watched  man's  ways  most  closely,  will 
best  understand  the  force  and  beauty  of  the 
words  which  the  inspired  writer  uses, — "  a  man 
without  a  shadow  of  turning" — to  express  all 
that  we  should  be,  and  are  not.  However,  in 
that  deep  wood  that  cloaked  the  side  of  the 
hills,  there  were  nearly  as  many  crooked  paths 
and  tortuous  roads  as  in  human  life.  Fer- 
dinand took  his  path  to  the  north,  the  chapel 
lay  to  the  south.  The  watchman  saw  him  go, 
and  thought  no  more  of  it ;  but  the  keen  eye 
of  the  gay  girl  Bertha  marked  him  also,  and 
she  smiled.  Some  half  hour  after,  when  her 
young  mistress  went  out  alone,  and  bent  her 
steps  towards  the  chapel,  Bertha  laughed. 


70  EHRENSTEIN. 


CHAPTEE    IV. 

About  an  hour  and  a  half  after  Ferdinand's 
song  had  ceased,  the  door  of  the  chapel,  which 
had  been  closed,  opened,  and  two  figures  came 
forth  under  the  green  shadow  of  the  forest 
leaves.  The  first  was  that  of  Adelaide  of 
Ehrenstein,  and  her  face  bore  tokens  of  recent 
agitation.  By  her  side  appeared  good  Father 
George,  with  his  head  uncovered,  and  no  staff 
in  his  hand.  He  was  speaking  with  the  lady, 
earnestly  but  gently,  and  he  still  continued  to 
walk  on  with  her  for  some  yards  up  the  hill. 
More  than  once,  as  they  went,  Adelaide's  eyes 
were  turned  to  either  side  of  the  path,  as  if 
she  feared  or  expected  some  interruption,  and 
though  she  said  not  a  word  to  indicate  what 
was   passing   in   her   heart,  the   good  Father 


£HRENSTEIN.  71 

marked  the  sart  of  anxiety  she  seemed  to  feel, 
and  at  length  paused,  saying,  "  Well,  my 
childj  I  will  go  with  you  no  farther.  You  will 
be  quite  safe  on  your  way  back ;  and  if  you 
attend  to  my  voice,  and  follow  my  counsel, 
you  might  be  happy  yourself,  and  save  others 
worlds  of  pain." 

He  did  not  pause  for  a  reply,  but  turned, 
and  re-entered  the  chapel,  leaving  Adelaide  to 
pursue  her  way  through  the  wood,  with  almost 
every  path  of  which  she  had  been  familiar 
from  infancy.  Nevertheless,  as  she  went,  she 
still  continued  to  look  timidly  round.  She 
did  not  go  far  alone,  however,  for  just  as  she 
passed  the  first  turning,  which  hid  the  chapel 
from  the  eye,  there  was  a  step  near,  and  Fer- 
dinand was  by  her  side. 

"  Oh,  Ferdinand  ! "  she  said,  "  I  am  terrified. 
What  is  it  you  want  to  say  ?  If  any  one  were 
to  find  me  here  with  you  alone,  what  would 
they  think? — and  my  father,  if  he  heard  it,  it 
would  bring  destruction  on  your  head  too." 

"  Fear  not,  fear  not,"  replied  her  lover; 
"  turn  into  this  path  with  me,  dear  Adelaide,  it 


72  EHRENSTEIN. 

will  bring  you  as  quickly  to  tlie  castle  as  the 
other,  and  we  can  speak  there  more  freely." 

His  fair  companion  hesitated ;  but  taking 
her  hand  in  his,  he  led  her  gently  forward, 
though  not  without  a  glowing  cheek  and  eyes 
cast  down.  It  was  a  small  footway,  which 
horses  could  not  travel,  and  wound  with  many 
a  turn  up  to  the  top  of  the  high  hill  on  which 
the  castle  stood.  The  short  green  mountain 
turf,  the  broken  masses  of  rock  here  and 
there,  the  straggling  boughs  reaching  across, 
and  the  wild  flowers  springing  uncrushed, 
even  in  the  midst  of  the  path,  showed  that 
it  was  trodden  by  no  very  frequent  feet. 
The  green  branches  crossing  on  high  shaded 
it  from  the  sun ;  except  when,  about  the 
hour  of  noon,  his  searching  rays  poured  down, 
;slept  on  a  mossy  bank  here  and  there,  or 
chequered  the  grass  with  dancing  light  and 
shade.  The  dove  and  the  wood-pigeon  mur- 
mured overhead,  the  breeze  sighed  faintly 
through  the  leaves,  and  the  nightingale — still 
in  song — trilled  his  rich  notes  upon  many  a 
bough  above.     There  was  a  tenderness  and  yet 


EHRENSTEIN.  73 

a  freshness  in  the  air ;  there  was  a  calming  and 
softening'  hght  upon  the  way ;  there  was  a 
loveUness  and  a  promise,  and  a  wooing  gentle- 
ness in  the  whole  scene,  that  fitted  it  well  for 
lovers  and  for  love.  The  voice  of  nature 
seemed  counselling  affection ;  the  asjoect  of  all 
things  harmonized  with  the  passion  in  each  of 
those  two  young  hearts ;  and  though  Ferdinand 
was  not  skilled  enough  in  the  mystery  of  asso- 
ciation to  have  chosen  that  scene  as  one  likely 
to  melt  and  touch  the  heart  he  sought  to  make 
his  own,  yet  he  could  not  have  found  one  on 
the  whole  earth  better  adapted  for  the  tale  he 
had  to  tell.  He  lost  no  time  ere  he  told  it ; 
and  though  his  words  were  ardent — ay,  and 
even  impassioned — yet  there  was  a  gentleness 
in  his  whole  tone,  a  soft  and  deprecating  look 
upon  his  countenance,  a  tenderness  as  well  as 
a  warmth  in  all  he  said,  which  prevented  the 
young  and  timid  woman's  heart  from  feeling 
much  of  that  sort  of  apprehension  with  which 
it  often  shrinks  from  the  first  touch  of  love. 
Brought  up  with  him  almost  from  her  child- 
hood,  unlearned   in   the   ways   of  the  world, 


74  EHRENSTEIN. 

left  nearly  to  solitude  since  her  mother's 
death,  with  no  other  companion  in  her  girl- 
hood but  him  who  walked  beside  her,  and 
loving  him  with  a  love  that  had  still  increased, 
Adelaide  felt  it  less  strange  to  listen  to  such 
words  from  him,  than  she  would  have  done 
with  any  other  human  being.  She  felt  it  less 
difficult,  too,  to  reply  to  him,  timidly,  yet 
frankly,  not  concealing  what  she  felt,  even 
when  she  did  not  speak  it. 

He  told  her  how  long  he  had  loved, — for  a 
few  short  years,  or  even  months,  were  long  in 
their  short  lives.  He  told  her  how  the  affection 
of  the  boy  had  grown  into  the  passion  of  the 
man;  how  the  fraternal  tenderness  of  early 
life  had  warmed  into  the  ardent  affection  of 
maturity.  He  told  her,  too,  how  hope  had 
been  first  illumined  in  his  heart  by  light  that 
seemed  to  shine  forth  from  hers ;  how  words 
that  she  had  spoken  without  feeling  their  full 
import,  had  bid  him  not  despair ;  how  smiles 
from  her  lips,  and  rays  from  her  eyes,  had 
nourished  and  expanded  the  flower  of  love  in 
his  bosom.     He  went  on  to  relate  how  he  had 


EHRENSTEIN.  75 

trembled,  and  feared,  and  doubted,  and  hesi- 
tated, when  he  first  became  conscious  of  the 
full  strength  of  all  his  sensations ;  how  he  had 
put  a  guard  upon  himself;  how  he  had 
refrained  from  seeing  her  alone  ;  how  he  had 
resisted  many  a  temptation ;  but  how  the 
power  of  the  passion  within  had  overcome  all 
prudent  care,  and  had  made  him  more  than 
once  speak  words  of  tenderness,  in  spite  of 
every  effort  to  restrain  them.  With  the  rich, 
wild  imagery  of  a  warm  and  glowing  imagi- 
nation, and  of  a  heart  full  of  eager  affection, 
he  depicted  the  pangs  he  had  endured,  the 
struggles  he  had  undergone,  the  cares  and 
anxieties  which  had  been  his  companions  dur- 
ing the  day,  the  bitter  and  desj^airing  thoughts 
which  had  haunted  him  through  the  night. 
But  at  length  he  explained  how  hope  had 
dawned  upon  him  ;  how  assurance  and  com- 
fort had  been  given  him  the  night  before; 
and  how  one,  upon  whom  they  could  both 
depend,  had  encouraged  him  to  persevere,  and 
held  out  mysterious  hopes  of  fortune  and 
success. 


76  EHRENSTEIN. 

He  did  not,  indeed,  pursue  his  tale  evenly 
to  the  close ;  for  more  than  once  his  fair  com- 
panion murmured  a  few  words  of  compassion 
for  what  he  had  suffered,  of  anxiety  for  his 
safety,  of  doubt  regarding  the  future ;  all  of 
which  were  very  sweet,  for  all  showed  him  too 
happily,  too  brightly,  that  he  was  loved  in 
return  ;  and  when  at  length  he  referred  to  his 
conversation  with  the  priest,  and  to  the  expec- 
tations which  had  been  held  out,  she  looked 
eagerly  up  in  his  face,  replying  without  dis- 
guise, "So  he  said  to  me,  Ferdinand.  He  spoke 
of  strange  and  mysterious  things ;  of  my  fate 
and  that  of  my  house  being  linked  to  yours 
by  an  unseen  tie;  which,  if  it  were  broken, 
would  bring  ruin  on  us  all,  I  could  not  under- 
stand him.  I  doubted,  for  I  could  scarcely 
believe  such  happy  tidings  true." 

She  paused  and  coloured,  as  soon  as  the 
words  were  spoken  ;  and  blushed  more  deeply 
still  when  he  asked,  "  Then  they  were  happy, 
dear  Adelaide?" 

"  You  do  not  doubt  it,"  she  murmured,  after 
a  moment's  silence.     "  But  at  all  events,"  she 


EHRENSTEIN.  77 

continued — suddenly  turning  from  the  question. 
— "  my  mother  told  me,  the  very  last  time  she 
held  me  in  her  arms,  to  trust  to  what  he  might 
say ;  and  now  he  bids  me  give  myself  to  you, 
without  fear  or  doubt.  I  know  not  what  to 
think." 

"  Think  that  he  directs  you  right,  dear 
Adelaide,"  replied  her  lover  eagerly ;  "  and 
oh !  follow  his  guidance,  and  the  guidance  of 
your  own  heart." 

She  was  silent  for  some  minutes,  walking  on 
by  his  side,  till  at  length  he  asked,  "  AVill  you 
not  promise,  Adelaide,  will  you  not  promise  to 
be  mine?" 

"How  can  I — how  dare  I?"  she  answered. 
"  Without  my  father's  will,  what  good  were 
my  promise,  Ferdinand?" 

"  All,  everything  to  me,"  answered  her 
lover ;  "  for  that  promise  once  given  you  would 
not  break  it,  dear  one.  Who  can  tell  what 
your  father  may  design  ?  Who  can  tell  that  he 
may  not  some  day  seek  to  drive  you  to  a 
marriage  with  one  you  hate;  or,  at  best,  can 
never  love  ?     But  that  promise  once  given  to 


78  EHRENSTEIN. 

me,  would  be  strength  to  you,  my  beloved,  as 
well  as  comfort  and  assurance  to  myself.  It 
would  be  the  rainbow  of  my  life ;  a  pledge 
that  there  would  be  no  more  destruction  of  all 
hopes.  Oh  !  dear  girl,  do  not  refuse  me;  give 
me  back  comfort  and  joy;  give  me  back  light 
and  sunshine;  give  me  that  security  against 
all  I  dread ;  give  me  that  support  in  danger, 
that  consolation  in  affliction,  that  object  of 
endeavour  and  of  hope.  Were  it  but  the  voice 
of  a  lover,  Adelaide,  you  might  well  hesitate, 
you  might  well  doubt;  but  one  who  has  no 
passion  to  serve,  who  is  calmer,  alas!  than 
I  can  be;  who  knows  more  than  we  know, 
and  judges  more  wisely  than  we  can  judge — 
one  for  whom  your  dear  mother  bespoke  your 
confidence;  one  whom  you  promised  her  to 
trust  and  to  rely  on — he  urges  you  as  strongly 
even  as  I  do,  and  bids  you  follow  the  course  in 
which  love  would  lead,  not  for  my  sake  alone, 
but  for  your  own  also." 

They  had  reached  a  spot,  by  this  time,  where 
the  wood  fell  back  a  little  from  the  path  on 
one  side,  and  a  low,  rocky  bank  appeared  on 


EHRENSTEIN.  79 

the  other,  crowned  with  old  beeches.  A  sprino- 
of  bright,  clear  water  welled  from  the  stone, 
filling  a  basin  that  some  careful  hand  had 
carved  below;  while  above,  in  a  little  niche, 
was  placed  a  figure  of  the  Virgin,  with  the  in- 
fant  Saviour  in  her  arms;  and  Ferdinand,  ex- 
tending his  hand  towards  the  well,  added 
earnestly,  "Here  I,  at  least,  Adelaide,  saw 
that  dear  lady  for  the  last  time ;  here  she 
taught  us  to  kneel  down  and  pray  together, 
not  many  days  before  she  laid  that  injunction 
upon  you.  And  now,  dear  Adelaide,  now  you 
will  not  refuse  me — now  you  will  follow  the 
counsel  to  which  she  pointed — and  promise  to 
be  mine." 

There  was  love  in  her  heart,  there  was  a 
voice  in  her  own  bosom  spoke  more  eloquently 
than  his  ;  she  wavered — she  yielded.  He  saw 
the  colour  come  and  go;  he  saw  the  bright 
eyes  full  of  tears ;  he  saw  the  lip  quiver,  and 
he  cried,  "  Oh  !  promise,  promise,  Adelaide  ! " 

"  Well,  I  do,"  she  murmured ;  and  at  the 
same  instant  a  voice  near  seemed  to  say,  "  Pro- 
mised, promised !" 


80  EHRENSTEIN. 

Both  started  and  looked  round,  but  nothing 
was  to  be  seen.  The  clear  light  streamed 
through  the  trees  on  the  top  of  the  bank, 
suffering  the  eye  to  see  for  some  way  between 
their  trunks ;  the  open  space  behind  was  con- 
siderable, and  no  place  of  concealment  ap- 
peared to  be  near. 

"  It  was  but  the  echo,  dearest,"  said  Ferdi- 
nand ;  and  pronouncing  a  word  or  two  sharply, 
there  was  a  slight  return  of  the  sound.  Ade- 
laide was  not  satisfied,  however,  and  lay- 
ing her  hand  upon  his  arm,  she  said  in  a 
low  tone,  "  Come  away,  come  away.  Oh, 
Heaven !  if  any  one  should  have  discovered 
us!" 

"  No  fear,  no  fear,  dearest,"  replied  her 
lover,  walking  on  by  her  side.  "  But  to  guard 
against  discovery  for  the  future,  Adelaide,  we 
must  devise  some  means  of  communication. 
Is  there  any  one  near  you,  whom  you  can 
trust,  my  beloved?" 

"  No  one  but  Bertha,"  answered  the  lady:  "I 
can  trust  her,  I  am  sure,  for  she  is  good  and 
true  ;  but  yet  I  do  not  think  I  could  ever  make 


EHRENSTEIN.  81 

up  my  mind  to  speak  to  her  on  the  subject 
first." 

Ferdinand  mused  for  a  moment  or  two,  with 
a  smile  upon  his  lips ;  and  then  replied,  "  I 
almost  suspect,  Adelaide,  that  Bertha  will  not 
require  much  information.  If  I  might  judge 
by  her  look  to-day,  she's  already  aware  of 
more  than  you  suspect." 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !"  exclaimed  Adelaide,  "  do  not 
say  so.  If  she  is,  my  conduct  must  have  been 
very  imprudent." 

"  Her  eye  may  have  been  very  keen,"  re- 
plied her  companion ;  "  but  if  you  think  you 
can  trust  her,  I  will  speak  to  her  upon  the 
subject  myself — cautiously  and  carefully,  you 
know,  dear  one,  so  as  not  to  tell  her  more  than 
is  necessary  at  once  ;  but,  indeed,  I  can  foresee 
many  circumstances  in  which  we  shall  have 
absolute  need  of  some  one  to  aid  us — of  some 
one  who  can  give  tidings  of  each  to  the  other, 
when  all  opportunity  of  private  intercourse 
may  be  denied  us." 

"  You  must  judge,  Ferdinand,  you  must 
judge,"  answered  Adelaide ;  "  but,  indeed,  I 

VOL.  I.  G 


82  EHRENSTEIN. 

fear  I  have  done  wrong  already,  and  tremble 
to  look  forward  to  the  coming  time.  And 
now,  leave  me,  dear  Ferdinand.  We  are  near 
the  castle,  and  you  ought  not  to  go  with  me 
further.  Every  step  agitates  and  terrifies 
me,  and  I  would  fain  seek  my  own  chamber, 
and  think." 

Still  Ferdinand  lingered,  however,  for  some 
time  longer ;  still  he  detained  his  fair  com- 
panion ;  nor  would  he  part  with  her  till  love's 
first  caress  was  given,  and  the  bond  between 
them  sealed  upon  her  lips.  But  at  length 
Adelaide  withdrew  her  hand,  half  smiling-, 
half  chiding,  and  hurried  away,  leaving  him  to 
follow  some  time  after.  When  she  reached 
the  castle,  she  passed  the  room  where  she  had 
before  been  sitting,  catching  with  a  glowing 
cheek  a  gay,  arch  look  that  Bertha  directed 
towards  her  ;  and  entering  her  bed-room,  cast 
herself  upon  her  knees  and  prayed,  while 
tears  of  agitation  and  alarm,  both  at  her  own 
sensations,  and  at  what  she  had  promised, 
rolled  over  the  dark  lashes  of  her  eyes,  and 
trickled  down  her  cheek.     Young  love  is  ever 


EHRENSTEIN.  8^ 

timid ;  but  in  lier  case  there  were  other 
feelings  which  moved  her  strongly  and  pain- 
fully. She  was  not  satisfied  with  her  own 
conduct;  she  feared  she  had  done  wrong;  and 
for  that  one  day  she  acted  the  part  of  a  severe 
censor  on  lierself.  True,  her  father's  de- 
meanour little  invited  confidence  ;  true,  he 
was  often  harsh  and  severe,  even  to  her ;  true, 
from  him  she  could  expect  no  consideration 
for  her  wishes  or  for  her  feelings ;  but  yet  he 
was  her  father,  the  one  whom  she  was  bound 
to  love  and  to  obey  ;  and  her  own  heart 
would  not  altogether  acquit  her,  even  though 
love  pleaded  eloquently  on  her  behalf.  I  have 
said  that  she  thus  felt  and  suffered  for  that 
one  day;  for,  as  will  be  seen  hereafter,  a 
strange  and  sudden  change  came  over  her,  and 
with  no  apparent  reason,  she  soon  gave  herself 
up  unboundedly  to  the  full  influence  of  her 
attachment.  The  human  heart  is  a  strange 
thing ;  but  very  often,  for  visible  effects  which 
seem  unaccountable,  there  are  secret  causes 
sufficient  for  all.  In  our  dealings  with  the 
world,  and  with  each  of  our  fellow-men,  we  are 

g2 


84 


EHilENST.MX. 


too  often  unjust,  not  so  much  from  Judging 
wrongly,  as  from  judging  at  all.  "  Man  can 
but  judge  from  what  he  knows,"  is  the 
common  cry  of  those  who  find  thenxselves 
fearfully  wrong  when  all  is  explained ;  but  the 
question  which  each  should  ask  himself  is, 
"  Am  I  called  upon  to  judge  at  all?"  and  too 
often  the  reply  would  be,  "  Judge  not,  and 
thou  shalt  not  be  judged ;  condemn  not,  and 
thou  shalt  not  be  condemned."  SujQficient, 
surely,  is  the  awful  responsibility  of  judging, 
when  duty  or  self-defence  forces  it  upon  us  ; 
how  terrible,  then,  the  weight  when  we  under- 
take to  decide  unnecessarily  upon  the  conduct 
of  others,  without  seeing  the  circumstances, 
without  hearing  the  evidence,  without  knowing 
the  motives, — and  yet  we  do  it  every  day,  and 
every  hour,  in  our  deeds,  in  our  words,  and  in 
our  thoughts,  lacking  that  true  charity  of  the 
heart  that  thinketh  no  evil.  But  man  has 
become  a  beast  of  prey :  the  laws  prevent  him 
from  tearing  his  fellows  with  his  teeth,  and 
the  human  tiger  preys  upon  them  in  his 
thoughts. 


EHRENSTEIN.  85 


CHAPTER  V. 

There  are  men  who  rise  from  a  low  station  to 
a  throne ;  and  it  certainly  must  he  a  grand 
and  triumphant  sensation  which  they  expe- 
rience when  first  they  sit  in  the  seat  of  sove- 
reignty, and  feel  their  brows  pressed  by  the 
golden  circlet  of  command,  with  the  great 
objects  of  ambition  all  attained,  the  struggle 
up  the  steep  ascent  to  power  accomplished, 
and  the  end  reached  for  which  they  have 
fought,  and  laboured,  and  watched  through 
maiiy  a  weary  day  and  night.  But  the  exul- 
tation of  that  moment,  great  as  it  may  be,  is 
nothing  to  that  which  fills  the  heart  of  youth 
in  the  first  moment  of  successful  love.  The 
new-throned  usurper  must  be  well-nigh  weary 
of  repeated  triumphs  ;  for  the  step  to  the  throne 


86  EHRENSTEIN, 

is  but  the  last  of  many  a  fatiguing  footfall  in 
the  path  of  ambition.  He,  too,  must  foresee 
innumerable  dangers  and  difficulties  round ;  for 
the  experience  of  the  past  must  teach  him  that 
in  his  race  there  is  no  goal,  that  the  prize  is 
never  really  won,  that  he  may  have  distanced 
all  others,  but  that  he  must  still  run  on.  Not 
so  with  the  lover  in  the  early  hours  of  his 
success ;  his  is  the  first  step  in  the  course  of 
joy,  and  the  brightest,  because  the  first. 
Fresh  from  all  the  dreams  of  youth,  it  is  to 
him  the  sweetest  of  realities  ;  unwearied  with 
the  bitter  task  of  experience,  he  has  the  capa- 
bility of  enjoyment  as  well  as  the  expectation 
of  repose.  The  brightness  of  the  present 
spreads  a  veil  of  misty  light  over  all  that  is 
threatening  in  the  future ;  and  the  well  of 
sweet  waters  in  the  heart  seems  inexhaustible. 

"With  what  a  different  step  Ferdinand  of 
Altenburg  trod  the  halls  of  the  castle  on  his 
return  ;  with  what  a  different  view  he  looked 
on  all  things  round  him !  The  gloomy  towers, 
the  shadowy  chambers,  the  long,  cheerless 
corridors,  seemed  full  of  light ;  and  there  was 


EHRENSTEIN.  87 

a  gay  and  laughing  spirit  in  his  heart  which 
had  not  been  there  since  love  first  became  its 
tenant.  He  could  have  jested,  he  could  have 
sported  like  a  child ;  but,  alas  !  there  was  no 
one  to  jest  or  sport  with,  for  not  more  than 
five  or  six  men  were  left  in  the  castle  after  the 
train  of  the  Count  and  the  little  band  of 
Sickendorf  had  departed.  Adelaide,  too,  re- 
mained in  her  own  apartments,  whither  he 
dared  not  venture ;  and  none  of  the  two  or 
three  girls  who  attended  upon  her,  and  who, 
with  an  elderly  dame,  whose  principal  function 
appeared  to  be  to  quarrel  with  the  chief  butler, 
formed  all  the  female  inmates  of  lEhrenstein, 
ventured  forth  for  nearly  two  hours  after  his 
return.  Bertha,  indeed,  looked  at  him  once,  as 
he  paced  the  battlements  below  the  windows 
of  the  room  in  which  she  sat,  but  maliciously 
kept  the  casement  closed,  suspecting,  perhaps, 
that  he  had  had  enough  enjoyment  for  one 
day.  Anxious  to  speak  with  her,  and  to  carry 
out  his  plan  for  making  her  the  means  of  com- 
municating with  her  mistress,  Ferdinand,  as 
he  turned  back  again,  ventured  to  make  her  a 


88  EHRENSTEIN. 

sign  to  join  him ;  but  Bertha  took  no  notice, 
and  plied  her  busy  hands  on  the  embroidery 
frame  where  she  sat,  without  seeming  even  to 
see  him. 

The  poor  lover's  first  happy  day  promised 
but  a  dull  passing.  Those  were  not  days  of 
many  books ;  and  perhaps,  in  the  whole  extent 
of  the  castle,  not  more  than  four  or  five  were 
to  be  found.  But  Ferdinand  could  not  have 
read,  even  had  they  been  to  be  procured,  for 
his  whole  thoughts  were  in  that  busy  and 
excited  state,  in  which  it  was  impossible  to  fix 
his  mind  with  attention  upon  anything  but  his 
own  fate  and  projects.  He  went  the  whole 
round  of  the  castle ;  then  he  saw  that  every- 
thing was  in  order ;  he  spoke  to  the  men  who 
were  in  the  execution  of  their  daily  duties ; 
and  often  as  he  went,  he  fell  into  a  fit  of 
thought,  where  fancy  rapt  him  far  away,  wan- 
dering in  bright  sunny  lands,  side  by  side 
with  her  he  loved.  At  leng-th,  returning  to 
the  corridor  above,  through  which  he  knew 
that  both  Adelaide  and  Bertha  must  pass,  if 
either  came  forth  from  the  ladies'  apartments. 


EHRENSTEIN.  89" 

he  stationed  himself  at  one  of  the  windows, 
and  continued  to  gaze  out  over  the  wide  extent 
of  forest,  and  hill,  and  dale,  which  the  pros- 
pect presented.  All  was  silent  and  quiet,  A 
dreamy  stillness  hung  over  the  whole  place; 
the  sunshine  itself  seemed  to  sleep  quietly- 
over  the  motionless  masses  of  the  trees,  and 
never  was  there  an  hour  or  a  scene  in  which 
a  young  lover  might  indulge  the  glittering 
visions  of  imagination,  with  less  to  distract 
or  interrupt  his  thoughts. 

The  last  four-and-twenty  hours  had  been 
busy  ones  in  Ferdinand's  life — busy  in  emo- 
tions, if  not  in  action;  and  they  had  been 
varied  too  by  many  a  change  of  sensation, 
by  much  despondency,  by  awe  and  by  fear, 
and  by  hope  and  joy.  But  if  the  truth  must 
be  told,  it  was  only  on  the  hope  and  joy  that 
his  mind  dwelt.  The  strange  and  fearful 
scenes  through  which  he  had  passed  the  night 
before  were  forgotten,  or  at  least  not  thought 
of;  the  sorrows  that  were  past  gave  but  a 
sort  of  shadowy  relief  to  the  bright  aspect  of 
the  present ;  difficulties,  impediments,  dangers, 
were  unheeded  or  unseen. 


90  EHRENSTEIN. 

For  not  more  than  half  an  hour,  however, 
was  he  suffered  thus  to  dream  ;  for,  at  the  end 
of  that  time,  the  door  at  which  he  had  looked 
up  as  he  passed  on  the  preceding  night  was 
opened  and  closed ;  and  turning  quickly  round 
Ix?  saw  Bertha  gliding  down  the  corridor 
towards  the  top  of  the  staircase.  She  laid 
her  finger  on  her  lips  as  she  passed  him ; 
and,  without  speaking,  he  followed  where 
she  led. 

The  gay  girl  took  her  way  to  the  battle- 
ments on  the  shady  side  of  the  castle,  to 
which  few  of  the  rooms  of  the  building  were 
turned ;  there  she  paused,  and  looked  gaily 
at  Ferdinand,  with  her  dark  eyes  sparkling, 
and  her  pretty  little  lip  curling  with  fun  and 
malice.  "  Impudent  young  man,"  she  said, 
as  he  joined  her,  "how  can  you  do  such 
things?  first  singing  a  love  song  under  my 
window,  and  then  making  me  a  sign  to  come 
and  join  you.  I  am  a  great  deal  too  good- 
natured,  and  too  tender  thus  to  indulge 
you.  If  our  lady  were  to  find  out  that 
w^e    w^ere   lovers,   she   would   tell    her  father 


EHRENSTEIN.  91 

and  then  we  should  soon  both  be  sent  out  of 
the  castle." 

She  spoke  as  gravely  as  she  could ;  and 
though  her  gay  look  might  give  some  indica- 
tion of  what  was  passing  within,  yet  Bertha's 
eyes  were  always  such  merry  ones,  that  Fer- 
dinand felt  not  a  little  embarrassed  how  to 
answer  what  perhaps  might  be  a  jest,  but 
which  might  yet  be  serious  also.  She  enjoyed 
his  perplexity  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  then 
asked  in  a  sharp  tone,  "  Well,  sir,  why  don't 
you  speak  if  you  have  anything  to  say? 
If  you  don't,  I  must  give  you  something 
to  talk  about.  Tell  me,  sir,  what  is  it  has 
made  my  mistress  so  sad  since  she  went 
out  and  met  you  in  the  wood?" 

"Sad  is  she?"  exclaimed  Ferdinand,  alarm- 
ed; "I  know  nought  that  should  make  her 
sad." 

"  Well,  she  is,"  rephed  Bertha ;  "  for  she  's 
shut  up  in  her  own  room,  and  Theresa  com- 
passionately looked  through  the  keyhole,  and 
told  us  she  was  weeping." 

"  Good    Heaven  ! "    exclaimed    Ferdinand, 


92  EHRENSTEIN. 

still  hesitating  whether  he  should  acknow- 
ledge that  he  had  met  Adelaide  or  not. 
"  Nothino-  I  have  ever  done  could  o-ive  her 
pain." 

"Well,  don't  look  so  terrified,  sir  lover," 
answered  Bertha  ;  "  there  are  a  thousand  other 
things  beside  pain  that  make  women  weep ; 
sometimes  joy,  sometimes  fright ;  and  perhaps 
it  is  the  last  in  this  case." 

"But  why  should  she  fear?"  asked  Fer- 
dinand. 

"  Nay,  that  you  know  best,"  replied  Bertha. 
"You've  neither  of  you  thought  fit  to  tell 
me  anything  about  it;  but  you  had  a  great 
deal  better  ;  for,  if  you  don't,  depend  upon  it 
you'll  get  yourselves  into  all  manner  of 
difficulties  and  dangers.  You  are  both  of 
you  as  imprudent  and  as  ignorant  of  such 
matters  as  if  you  were  twelve  years  old ; 
and  I  should  not  wonder  if  you  were  to  have 
yourself  strangled  for  making  love  to  your 
lord's  daughter,  and  to  get  her  either  shut 
up  in  a  convent,  or  married  in  haste  to  some 
fierce  old  baron,  who  may  maltreat  her,    as 


EHRENSTEIN.  93 

my   good  and   noble   lord,   the    Count,   used 
his  poor  wife." 

"  Nay,  now  you  are  trying*  to  tease  me, 
pretty  Bertha,"  replied  Ferdinand  of  Alten- 
burg.  "As  I  see  you  know  a  great  deal, 
I  may  as  well  tell  you  all ;  and  I  will,  if  you 
can  be  serious  ;  but  if  you  go  on  in  jest  with 
me,  I  will  jest  with  you,  and  may  find  means 
to  tease  you  too." 

"  Nay,  I  am  not  jesting  at  all,"  answered 
Bertha,  more  gravely;  '^all  I  have  said  is 
true  enough :  and  I  can  tell  you  1  have  been 
in  a  great  fright  for  you  both  for  some  time. 
For  during  the  last  month  I  have  been 
terrified  every  day  lest  others  should  see 
what  was  plain  enough  to  my  eyes.  Do 
you  consider  what  it  is  you  are  doing,  and 
what  sort  of  a  man  our  lord  is  —  that  he 
would  no  more  hesitate  to  put  you  to  death 
in  the  castle-ditch  than  to  eat  his  breakfast  ?" 

"  He  dare  not,"  answered  Ferdinand,  boldly. 
"  He  may  do  that  with  a  serf  or  a  vassal, 
perhaps ;  but  I  am  neither  the  one  nor  the 
other,  and  as  noble  as  he  is." 


94  EHRENSTEIN. 

All  women  love  daring,  and  the  youth's 
answer  pleased  his  companion  well ;  yet  she 
could  not  help  jesting  him  a  little  upon  what  she 
called  his  pride.  "Oh,  yes,  you  're  a  gentleman 
born  !"  she  said ;  "  you  have  made  us  all  know 
that.  But  now,  Ferdinand,  talk  a  little  reason, 
and  don't  pretend  to  say  what  our  lord  dare  do, 
or  dare  not  do.  He  dare  do  many  a  thing,  and 
has  before  now,  which  perhaps  neither  I  nor 
you  dream  of.  But  in  a  word,  young  gentle- 
man— for  I  must  not  stop  long — I  have  seen 
for  some  time  all  that  is  going  on  here,  and 
would  have  given  a  great  deal  to  stop  it,  but  I 
did  not  know  how ;  and  now  it  is  too  late. 
The  only  thing  to  be  thought  of  at  present  is, 
what  is  to  come  of  all  this  ?  On  my  life !  my 
knees  shake  when  I  think  of  it;  and  I  am 
not  apt  to  be  afraid  of  a  little  adventure  either. 
"What  is  it  that  you  two  propose  to  do?" 

To  say  the  truth,  this  was  a  question  for 
which  Ferdinand  was  not  at  all  prepared 
v/ith  an  answer.  He  had  laid  out,  indeed, 
no  distinct  plan  of  action.  Youth  and  love 
are  strange   relieis   upon   circumstances,    and 


EHRENSTEIN.  95 

lie  replied  simply,  "  To  go  on  loving,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"  Oh,  that  plan  will  never  do,"  answered 
Bertha,  laughing.  "  You  can 't  stop  there. 
In  the  first  place,  you  would  neither  of  you  be 
content  to  go  on  loving  like  a  couple  of  turtles 
in  two  separate  cages  all  your  lives ;  and  be- 
sides, things  would  soon  happen  to  drive  you 
out  of  such  idleness  of  love.  Any  day  of  the 
week,  my  lord  may  think  fit  to  marry  his 
daughter;  and  what  would  she  and  you  do 
then?  I  must  think  of  some  plan  for  you, 
poor  things ;  for  I  see  you  are  not  fit  to  devise 
any  for  yourselves." 

"  The  only  plan,  my  pretty  Bertha,  to  be 
followed  at  present,"  answered  Ferdinand, 
after  a  moment's  thought,  "  is  for  you  to  be- 
friend us,  and  give  us  help  as  far  as  you  can, 
in  whatever  circumstances  may  occur ;  to  let 
me  know  everything  that  happens  to  your 
lady  that  I  do  not  see ;  and  I  will  take  care 
that  you  shall  know  everything  that  occurs  to 
me,  in  order  that  it  may  be  communicated 
to   her.       I  am  sure   it   is  your  wish  to  serve 


yO  EHRENSTEIN. 

her,  Bertha;  she  loves  you  dearly,  and  has 
such  confidence  in  you  that  she  told  me  I 
might  confide  in  you  implicitly." 

"  I  woul3  serve  her  with  my  heart's  blood," 
replied  the  girl,  warmly ;  "  tliough  Heaven  for- 
bid that  I  should  have  to  do  so,"  she  added, 
laughing ;  "  for  I  would  a  great  deal  rather 
have  that  heart's  blood  where  it  is,  and  see  her 
happy  too,  poor  girl.  But,  heigho !  I  don't 
know  how  that 's  to  be  done,  and  if  I  am  to  be 
the  messenger  between  you,  Master  Ferdinand, 
there  will  be  nothing  for  it  but  for  you  to  make 
love  to  me;  or,  at  least,  to  get  the  people  of  the 
castle  to  think  you  are  so  doing." 

"  Oil,  that  won't  be  a  very  difficult  task, 
Bertha,"  replied  the  young  man,  with  a  gal- 
lant look.  "And  all  we  can  do  is  to  watch 
events,  and  to  take  advantage  of  them  as  they 
arise— at  least  till  we  have  further  counsel 
from  Father  George  as  to  how  we  ought  to 
act." 

"Oh,  is  Father  George  in  the  secret?"  cried 
Bertha,  clapping  her  hands  joyfully ;  "  then 
there  is  hope.     The  lord  of  the  abbey  against 


EHRENSTEIN.  97 

the  lord  of  the  castle  will  always  beat  in  the 
end.     But  what  says  the  good  Father?" 

"  He  says  everything  to  encourage  us," 
answered  Ferdinand,  "  and,  unlike  you,  fair 
Bertha,  nothing  to  discourage." 

"  He  knows  more  than  I  do,"  replied  Ber- 
tha, "  more  than  any  of  us ;  and  he  has  some 
reason,   I  '11   warrant.     I  wish  to    Heaven   I 
could  see  him ;  but  I  dare  not  go  down  so 
far,  for  fear  I  should  be  missed.     He  was  with 
our  poor  lady  in  her  last  hours,  and  doubtless 
could  tell  a  tale  if  he  would — well,  well,  men 
are  strange  creatures;     I  wonder  women  are 
such  fools  as  to  make  themselves  their  slaves 
— I  '11  never  marry — not  I ;  for  I  never  yet 
saw  the  man  that  was  not  as  soft  as  a  dor- 
mouse while  he  was  courting,  and  as  hard  as 
a  hyena  when   he  was  married.     But  there 
comes  old  Sickendorf  riding  up  through  the 
wood — I  must  away,  for  he  's  the  greatest  old 
tell-tale    in    the   world,   with    the    gossiping 
tongue   of    a    grandmother,   the    spite   of    a 
monkey,  and  the  heart  of  a  wolf." 

"  Stay,  stay,  Bertha,"  cried  the  young  gen- 

VOL.    I.  H 


98  EHRENSTEIN. 

tleman.  "  If  we  are  to  seem  lovers,  you 
know,  it  is  as  well  that  the  old  man  should 
see  us ;  and  if  he  catches  sight  of  you  walking 
here  with  me,  without  perceiving  who  it  is 
distinctly,  he  may  fancy  it  is  Adelaide,  and 
make  mischief  there." 

"  Ah,  you  treacherous  boy  !"  cried  the  gay 
girl,  "that  is  a  true  specimen  of  all  men. 
To  shield  yourself  and  your  love  of  the  hour 
you  would  have  all  the  risk  and  the  blame 
fall  upon  me,  though  Heaven  knows  I  am 
hazarding  enough  to  serve  you.  The  more 
faith  and  truth  we  poor  things  have,  the  more 
ready  are  you  to  sacrifice  us.  It  seems  quite 
natural  and  right,  does  it  not,  that  I  should,  just 
as  an  honour  and  a  pleasure,  fall  into  blame 
with  my  lord,  and  seem  your  light  of  love  to 
blind  him  to  your  mad  passion  for  his  daughter." 

"But  you  yourself  proposed,  I  should 
make  the  people  think  that  you.  Bertha,  are 
the  object  I  am  seeking,"  replied  Ferdinand, 
"  and  now  when  I  propose  to  follow  that  very 
plan  you  accuse  me  of  ingratitude,  wavering 
to  and  fro  like  an  aspen  leaf," 


EHRENSTEIN.  99 

"Am  I  not  a  woman?"  cried  Bertha, 
laughing  ;  "  have  I  not  a  right  to  waver  ?  If 
you  are  to  make  love  to  me,  I  tell  you,  I  will 
change  fifty  times  a  day ;  when  I  pout,  you 
shall  call  my  lips  budding  roses;  when  I 
smile,  you  shall  call  my  brow,  heaven ;  when 
I  cry,  you  shall  say  my  eyes  are  like  the 
April  sky.  Now,  I  am  not  in  the  humour  for 
being  made  love  to,  so  I  have  more  than 
a  mind  to  run  away  and  leave  you  as  a 
morsel  for  old  Sickendorf 's  grinders  —  at 
least,  those  he  has  left." 

"  Nay,  nay,  dear  Bertha,"  cried  Ferdinand, 
pressing  to  her  side  as  he  saw  the  horsemen 
coming  near ;  "  if  not  for  mine,  for  your  sweet 
mistress's  sake,  play  out  the  part  you  have 
undertaken." 

"  The  mystery  must  not  be  a  long  one,  then, 
Master  Ferdinand,"  answered  Bertha ;  "  and, 
for  modesty,  keep  a  little  farther  off,  for 
although  I  do  not  very  much  mind  that  people 
should  say  I  listened  to  a  love  story — there 
being  no  great  harm  in  that — I  would  rather 
they  did  not  think  it  too  warm  a  one,  for 
H  2 


100  EHRENSTEIN. 

women  have  a  character  to  lose,  though  men 
have  none  worth  keeping." 

"  But  then,  dear  Bertha,  it  is  understood 
that  you  will  befriend  us,"  said  her  companion, 
"  and  will  keep  our  secret,  and  give  us  all 
sorts  of  information  and  advice." 

"  Aye,  aye,"  answered  Bertha,  "  I  must 
risk  putting  my  hand  into  the  bee-hive  and 
being  stung  to  death,  to  get  yoa  to  the  honey. 
I  am  older  than  either  of  you,  and  ought  to 
know  better,  but  you  are  two  such  poor 
imprudent  things,  that  if  I  did  not  help  you, 
one  would  die  of  a  broken  heart,  and  the 
other  of  a  broken  neck,  very  soon,  so  I  must 
even  run  the  risk.  But  I  will  have  some 
talk  with  Father  George,  very  soon,  for  if  he 
does  not  give  me  some  assurance  and  comfort, 
I  shall  dream  of  nothing  but  being  strangled 
every  night.  Here  they  come,  here  they 
come ;  Sickendorf  and  his  gang.  Heaven  and 
earth !  what  have  they  got  all  those  horses 
loaded  with  i  they  must  have  been  plundering 
IN'eustadt.  Now,  cannot  you  make  me  a  fine 
speech,  Master  Ferdinand,  swearing  love  and 


EHRENSTEIN.  101 

eternal  constancy,  such  as  you  men  tickle  poor 
girls'  ears  with,  just  to  let  old  Sickendorf  see 
you  in  the  act  of  ^protestation  ? " 

"  I  would  give  you  a  kiss,  pretty  Bertha," 
replied  Ferdinand,  gaily,  "  and  that  would 
do  better,  only  you  told  me  not  to  come 
near." 

"  Oh,  that  would  be  too  close,  a  great  deal,'* 
answered  Bertha,  laughing.  "  There,  he  sees 
us — hark !  he  is  calhng  out  to  us — I  will  run 
away  as  if  in  a  fright,  and  let  him  see  my  face 
as  I  go." 

She  did  as  she  proposed,  and  in  a  moment 
after  the  old  knight  came  riding  along  under 
the  battlements  calling  up  to  Ferdinand  with 
a  loud  laugh,  "  Ha,  ha,  you  young  dog,  that 's 
what  you  staid  at  home  for,  to  chat  with 
pretty  Bertha  on  the  walls !  " 

"  No  great  harm  in  that,  Sickendorf,"  re- 
plied Ferdinand,  leaning  over  to  speak  to  him. 
"  I  dare  say  you  have  done  such  a  thing 
before  now,  yourself;  and  will  do  it  again 
many  a  time.  Both  she  and  I  like  a  walk  in 
the  free  air,  better  than  being  stifled  in  the 


102  EHRENSTEIN. 

castle  all  day  long.  And  why  shouldn't  we 
take  it  together  1 " 

"  If  that  were  all,  why  didn't  you  go  on 
the  side,  where  folks  could  see  you  ?"  replied 
the  old  man,  still  merry.  '^No,  no,  youngster, 
I  am  too  old  a  campaigner  for  that.  How- 
ever, it 's  no  business  of  mine.  We  've  made 
a  glorious  forage.  The  rogues  did  not  expect 
to  be  called  upon  in  such  a  hurry,  so  that  all 
tlie  capons  were  strutting  before  the  door; 
aye,  and  geese  too.  How  many  geese  have 
we  got,  Martin?" 

"  Nineteen,  sir,"  answered  the  man ;  and 
the  old  knight  was  riding  on,  when  Ferdinand 
called  after  him,  laughing,  "  Why,  that 's  the 
number  of  your  troop,  Sickendorf !" 

The  other  shook  his  fist  at  him  good- 
humouredly  enough ;  for  his  heart  was  ex- 
panded by  the  success  of  his  expedition,  and  to 
say  the  truth,  Bertha  had  done  him  but  scanty 
justice.  He  was  a  thorough  old  German 
knight  of  the  times — a  character  which  had 
generally  more  or  less  _of  the  reiter  in  it — as 
ignorant  as   a  boor   of  everything  but  war, 


EHRENSTEIN.  103 

brave  as  a  lion,  superstitious  in  a  high  degree, 
bloody  when  enraged  or  opposed,  rapacious  as 
any  beast  of  prey,  and  holding  fast  by  the  old 
maxim,  that  anything  is  justifiable  in  love  or 
war.  Far  from  thinking  the  worse,  therefore, 
of  Ferdinand,  if  he  had  made  love  to  all 
Adelaide's  maids  together,  he  would  only  have 
considered  it  a  very  laudable  method  of  em- 
ploying his  idle  hours,  and  would  never  have 
thought  of  reporting  it  to  the  Count  as  a 
matter  of  blame.  He  looked  upon  deceiving 
a  poor  girl  with  tales  of  love,  or  beating  a 
boor  nearly  to  death  who  resisted  any  unjust 
demand,  as  one  of  the  privileges  of  a  soldier  and 
a  gentleman,  which  it  was  not  only  just  but 
expedient  to  exercise  from  time  to  time,  to  keep 
such  rights  from  falling  into  desuetude ;  and 
after  he  entered  the  castle,  turning  his  thoughts 
to  other  affairs,  he  gave  no  more  attention  to 
the  proceedings  of  Bertha  and  Ferdinand, 
only  jesting  the  young  man  for  a  moment 
upon  his  love-making  ;  and  declaring  that  he 
had  shown  bad  taste,  for  that  Theresa  was  by 
far  the  prettier  girl  of  the  two. 


104  EHRENSTEIN. 

"  That 's  because  you  are  as  black  yourself 
as  one  of  the  andirons,"  answered  Ferdinand, 
"  and  therefore  you  think  every  fair-faced  girl 
with  flaxen  hair  a  perfect  beauty.  I  dare  say 
you  've  said  sweet  things  enough  to  Theresa, 
and,  therefore,  I  wouldn't  for  the  world  try  to 
spoil  your  game,  if  you  won't  spoil  mine." 

"  Pooh,  nonsense  ;  I  've  given  up  love  these 
twenty  years,"  said  Sickendorf,  "  but  I  won't 
meddle  with  your  affairs.  I  wouldn't  mar  a 
nice  little  plot  of  love  for  half  the  lands  of 
Ehrenstein — so  go  on  your  own  way,  I  '11  not 
interfere." 

"  Upon  your  honour  ?"  asked  Ferdinand. 

"  Upon  my  knighthood,"  replied  the  old 
man.  "  So  long  as  you  do  your  duty  as  a 
soldier,  I  '11  not  meddle  with  your  love  affairs. 
But  on  my  life,  I  'm  mighty  hungry,  for  I  've 
had  nothing  but  a  flagon  of  wine  since  I  went, 
and  I  can  never  wait  till  supper-time." 

^'  Do  not  be  afraid,"  answered  Ferdinand, 
"  I  made  the  cook  put  by  for  you  at  dinner, 
the  whole  of  a  roast  chine  of  roebuck,  though 
Metzler  and  Herman  looked  at  it  as  if  their 


EHRENSTEIN.  105 

very  eyes  would  have  eaten  it.     I  knew  you 
would  come  home  like  a  wolf." 

"  That 's  a  good  boy,  that 's  a  good  boy," 
answered  the  old  knight,  "  I  won't  forget  you 
for  that.  You  shall  have  the  skinning  of  a 
fat  village  some  day  all  to  yourself ;  but  I  '11 
go  and  get  the  reh-braten,  for  I  could  eat  my 
fingers."  And  away  he  went,  to  satisfy  his 
appetite,  which  was  at  all  times  one  of  the 
best. 


106  BHRENSTEIN. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

An  hour  or  two  went  by,  and  it  was  drawing 
towards  night,  when  Sickendorf,  after  having 
appeased  the  cravings  of  hunger,  was  walking 
up  and  down  the  ordinary  hall,  for  want  of 
anything  else  to  do.  Indeed,  the  piping  time  of 
peace  to  a  soldier  of  his  stamp  was  a  very  dull 
period,  especially  at  that  season  of  the  year, 
when  many  of  the  sports  of  the  field  are  for- 
bidden ;  and  any  little  incident  that  broke  the 
monotony  of  the  castle  life  was  a  great  relief. 
There  was  nobody  in  the  hall  but  himself; 
and  he  was  cursing  the  slow  flight  of  time, 
and  thinking  the  Count  very  long  ^  upon  the 
road  home,  when  the  lifting  of  the  door  latch 
made   him   turn  his   head,   and   he  instantly 


EHRENSTEIN.  107 

exclaimed,  with  a  hoarse  laugh,  "  Ha !  who 
are  you  looking  for,  Mrs.  Bertha?  Ferdinand 
is  not  here." 

"  I  was  looking  for  you,  sir,"  answered 
Bertha,  with  perfect  composure,  at  the  same 
time  walking  up  to  him.  "I  do  not  think 
my  lady  is  at  all  well,"  she  continued, 
"she  has  been  moping  by  herself  all  day, 
and  says  her  head  aches." 

"  Ah  !  that 's  bad,  that 's  bad,"  answered 
Sickendorf:  "no  one  should  have  a  headach 
but  a  boy  of  sixteen  who  has  been  drunk 
overnight.  But  what  can  I  do,  pretty  Bertha ; 
I  'm  no  leech,  and  am  more  accustomed  to 
bleeding  men  than  bleeding  women  ?" 

"Ay,  but  Sir  Knight,  you  can  send  down 
to  the  chapel,  where  one  of  the  monks  will 
be  found.  They  all  know  something  of 
leechcraft ;  and  if  Father  George  is  there, 
he  knows  a  great  deal." 

"  But  it 's  growing  dark,"  said  Sickendorf. 
"  The  gates  must  be  shut  in  ten  minutes, 
and  we  want   all    the    men   we   have   about 


108  EHRENSTEIN. 

the  place.  Better  wait  till  the  Count  comes 
back,  and  if  she  should  be  very  bad,  I  '11 
tell  you  what  you  must  do ;  mull  half  a 
pint  of  Zeller  wine;  put  plenty  of  spice  in, 
and  a  spoonful  or  two  of  honey.  Let  her 
drink  that  down  at  one  draught, — that  will 
cure  her.  It  is  just  what  cured  me  the  only 
time  I  ever  had  a  headach." 

"  Ay,  but  what  would  cure  you  might 
kill  our  lady,"  replied  Bertha,  who  did  not 
at  all  approve  of  the  prescription.  "  I  pray 
you,  Herr  Von  Sickendorf,  send  down  one 
of  the  men  to  the  good  father.  What  would 
you  say  if  this  were  to  turn  out  a  fever  after 
you  refused  to  send  for  help  ? " 

"  A  fever  ! "  cried  Sickendorf,  "  what  has 
she  done  to  get  a  fever?  She  has  neither 
ridden  fifty  or  sixty  miles  in  a  hot  sun,  nor 
lain  out  all  night  in  a  damp  marsh ;  nor  drunk 
three  or  four  quarts  of  wine  to  heat  her  blood — 
Well,  if  I  must  send,  I  must ;  but  mind,  I  do  it 
with  no  good  will,  for  I  don't  like  to  send 
any  of  the  men  out  after  gates  closing." 


EHRENSTEIN.  109 

Thus  saying,  he  put  his  head  out  of  the  door, 
calhng  till  the  whole  building  echoed  again: 
"  Martin,  Martin — Martin,  I  say  ;"  and  then  re- 
turning to  Bertha's  side,  he  continued,  "  I  don't 
think  much  of  the  monks.  They  can't  be  such 
holy  men  as  people  say,  else  they'd  keep  the 
wood  clear  of  spirits  and  devils,  and  things  of 
that  kind.  Why  one  of  the  men,  who  was 
looking  out  from  the  turret  during  the  storm 
last  night,  vows  he  saw  some  kind  of  apparition 
just  down  below  the  chapel,  fencing  with  the 
lightning,  and  playing  at  pitch  and  toss  with 
balls  of  fire.  Then  all  in  a  minute  he  vanished 
away. — Ah !  Martin,  you  must  go  down  to  the 
chapel  in  the  wood,  and  tell  the  priest  to  come 
up  and  see  the  lady  Adelaide,  who  is  ill ;  so  let 
him  bring  his  lancet  with  him." 

"  Nonsense,"  cried  Bertha, "  she  will  need  no 
bleeding;  you  soldiers  think  of  nothing  but 
blood." 

The  man  Martin  dropped  his  head,  and  did 
not  at  all  seem  to  like  the  task ;  but  then  gave 
a  look  through  the  window  to  the  sky   and 


110  EHRENSTEIN. 

walked  away,  grumbling  something  which  was 
neither  heard  by  the  old  knight  nor  the  young 
damseL  Bertha  having  performed  her  errand, 
was  then  tripping  away;  but  Sickendorf  caught 
her  hand,  saying,  in  a  honied  tone,  "  Stay  a 
bit,  my  pretty  maid,  and  chat  with  me,  as  you 
did  with  young  Ferdinand  this  morning." 
,  "  No,  indeed,"  cried  Bertha,  trying  to  with- 
draw her  hand  ;  "  that  was  in  the  free  air  and 
sunshine,  not  in  a  dark  hall — let  me  go,  sir." 
But  the  next  moment  her  eyes  fixed  upon 
something  at  the  further  end  of  the  long  room, 
and  giving  a  loud  scream  she  started  back. 

Sickendorf  let  go  her  hand,  and  turned 
round  to  look  in  the  same  direction,  where  two 
doors  opened  into  the  opposite  sides  of  the  hall. 
Both  apparently  were  closed,  but  yet,  from 
the  one  to  the  other  he  distinctly  perceived  a 
tall  shadowy  form,  clothed  in  long  garments, 
stalk  slowly  across,  and  disappear.  The  old 
man  who  would  willingly  have  confronted  a 
whole  host  of  mortal  enemies,  and  plunged  his 
horse  into  a  forest  of  spikes,  now  stood  rooted 


EHRENSTEIN.  Ill 

to  the  ground,  with  his  teeth  chattering-  and 
his  knees  shaking,  a  thousand-fold  more  terri- 
fied than  the  young  girl  beside  him.  Bertha 
seized  the  opportunity  to  hasten  away  to  her 
mistress's  apartments ;  and  Sickendorf,  who 
called  after  her  in  vain,  thought  the  line  of  her 
retreat  by  the  door  behind  them  so  excellent, 
that  he  followed  as  soon  as  he  could  regain 
strength  to  go. 

Never  in  Sickendorf 's  life  had  he  so  eagerly 
desired  companionship  as  when  he  quitted  the 
hall ;  but  companionship  he  could  not  find,  of 
the  kind  and  quality  that  befitted  his  rank  and 
station.  The  old  ritter  would  have  felt  him- 
self degraded  by  associating  with  the  common 
soldiers,  or  anybody  who  had  not  Von  before 
his  name;  but  Ferdinand  he  could  not  find; 
his  companion,  old  Karl  Von  Mosbach,  had  ac- 
companied the  Count,  with  all  the  other  persons 
of  gentle  birth  who  filled  the  various  anomalous 
ofiices  which  then  existed  in  the  household  of 
a  high  nobleman;  and  not  even  a  crossbow- 
man,  who,  as  was  generally  admitted,  had  a 


112  EHRENSTEIN. 

right  to  sit  down  to  table  with  a  knight,  could 
be  discovered  by  our  worthy  friend  as  he  went 
grumbling  through  the  castle. 

"  Hundert  Schwerin!"  he  exclaimed;   "to 
think  of  my  seeing  the  ghost !     Santa  Maria  ! 
who  'd  have  ever  fancied  it  would  have  come 
into  the  hall  1     It  looked  to  me,  mighty  like 
our  poor  dear  lady  that 's  gone,  only  it  had  a 
ong  beard,  and  was  six  foot  high.     I  wonder 
if  our  good  lord  did  put  her  out  of  the  way,  as 
some  people  think ! — What  could  it  want  in 
the  hall?     Very   saucy   of   an   apparition  to 
show  itself  there,  unless  it  were  at  meal  times, 
when,  poor  thing  !  it  might  want  something  to 
eat  and  drink.     It  must  be  cold  and  hungry 
work  to  go  shivering  about  all  night  in  vaults 
and  passages,  and  to  sneak  back  to  its  hiding- 
hole  at  daylight.     I  'd  rather  stand  sentry  on 
the  northern'st  tower  in  the  middle  of  January. 
I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  be  a  ghost !     I  should 
not  like  it  at  all.     I'll   have  this    one   laid, 
however,  if  it  costs  me  five  crowns  out  of  my 
own   pocket ;  for  we   shan  't   be   safe   in   our 


EHRENSTEIN.  Il3 

rooms,  if  it  goes  on  in  this  way,  unless  we 
huddle  up  five  or  six  together,  like  young  pigs 
in  a  sty.  Donner  !  where  can  that  young  dog, 
Ferdinand,  be  ?  I  won't  tell  him  what  I  Vo 
seen,  for  he  '11  only  laugh  ;  but  I  '11  call  him  to 
talk  about  the  Lady  Adelaide  ;  he 's  very  fond 
of  her,  and  will  like  to  hear  about  Jier  being 
ill ;"  and,  raising  his  voice,  with  these  friendly 
intentions,  he  called  up  the  stairs  which  led  to 
the  young  gentleman's  room, — "  Ferdinand  1 
Ferdinand  ! — I  want  you,  scapegrace  ! " 

"  What  is  it,  ritter  ?"  answered  the  voice  of 
Ferdinand  from  above ;  "  I  'm  busy,  just  now  ; 
I  '11  come  in  a  minute." 

"  But  I  want  you  now,"  answered  Sicken- 
dorf,  who  was  determined  not  to  be  left  longer 
without  society  than  was  necessary; — "Come 
hither  and  speak  to  me,  or  I  will  come  to  you." 

Ferdinand  said  a  word  or  two  to  some  one 
above,  and  then  came  unwillingly  down  the 
stairs. 

"  Ah,  wild  one !"  said  the  old  knight,  "  what 
would  you  have  given  to  be  in  my  place  just 

VOL.    I.  I 


114  EHRENSTEIN» 

now?  I've  had  a  chat  with  pretty  mistress 
Bertha,  just  between  light  and  dark,  in  the 
hall." 

"  Indeed !"  answered  Ferdinand.  "  I  dare 
say  it  was  very  innocent,  Sickendorf ;  and  sa 
was  my  chat  with  her  on  the  battlements. 
!But  what  might  she  want  with  you?" 

"  Why,  the  Lady  Adelaide  is  very  ill,'' 
replied  Sickendorf. 

"  111 ! "  exclaimed  Ferdinand,  in  a  tone  of 
much  alarm.  "  What,  the  Lady  Adelaide ! 
She  seemed  quite  well  this  morning." 

"  Ay,  but  women  change  like  the  wind,"' 
said  Sickendorf;  "  and  she 's  ill  now,  however ; 
so  I  Ve  sent  down  to  the  chapel  for  the  priest 
to  come  up  and  say  what's  to  be  done  for 
her." 

"  Why,  Father  George  is  in  my  room  now," 
replied  Ferdinand,  "  giving  me  good  counsel 
and  advice." 

"Send  him  down,  then, — send  him  do-vvn, 
quick,"  said  Sickendorf ;  "and  then  come  and 
talk  with  me  :  I  Ve  a  good  deal  to  say." 


EHRENSTEIN.  115 

Ferdinand  sped  away  with  a  much  more  rapid 
step  than  that  which  had  brought  him  thither, 
and  returned  in  a  few  seconds  with  the  good 
priest,  whose  face,  as  far  as  Sickendorf  could 
see  it,  in  the  increasing  darkness,  expressed 
much  less  alarm  than  that  which  the  lover's 
countenance  had  displayed. 

"  'Tis  nothing, — 'tis  nothing,"  he  said,  after 
speaking  with  the  old  knight  for  a  moment,  on 
the  lady's  illness ;  "  some  trifle  that  will  soon 
pass.  But  I  will  go  and  see ;"  and,  accom- 
panied by  Ferdinand  and  the  old  soldier  as  far 
as  the  door  of  Adelaide's  apartments,  he  went 
in  without  ceremony. 

While  he  remained, — and  he  staid  for  more 
than  an  hour,  Ferdinand  and  Sickendorf  con- 
tinued walking  up  and  down  the  corridor,  and 
only  went  beyond  it  to  order  the  hall  and  the 
passages  to  be  lighted.  Their  conversation 
was  entirely  of  the  Lady  Adelaide  and  her 
illness  ;  for  though,  with  the  invariable  garru- 
lity of  one  who  had  seen  a  marvel,  Sickendorf 
more  than  a  dozen  times  approached  the  sub- 

I  2 


116  EHRENSTEIN. 

ject  of  tlie  apparition,  ready  to  pour  the  whole 
tale  into  Ferdinand's  ear,  notwithstanding  all 
his  resolutions  to  the  contrary,  the  young  man 
was  still  more  occupied  with  the  thoughts  of 
his  fair  lady's  state,  than  the  old  knight  with  the 
memory  of  the  ghost,  and  he  ever  turned  back 
to  that  topic  just  when  the  whole  history  was 
about  to  be  related.  Then  Sickendorf  would 
discourse  learnedly  upon  calentures  and  fevers, 
hot  and  cold,  describe  the  humours  that  ferment 
in  man's  blood,  and  tell  what  are  the  vapours 
that  rise  from  their  fermentation;  shake  his 
head  and  declare  that  it  was  a  wondrous  pity 
young  girls  should  be  so  given  phthisick,  which 
often  carried  them  off  in  the  flower  of  their 
age,  and  the  lustre  of  their  beauty ;  and, 
shaking  his  head  when  he  pronounced  Ade- 
laide's name,  would  declare  that  she  looked 
sadly  frail  of  late,  doubting  whether  she  would 
last  another  winter.  But  as  all  this — ^though 
it  served  to  torment  in  a  terrible  manner  the 
heart  of  the  young  lover — would  probably  not 
prove  very  entertaining  to  the  reader,  we  will 


EHRENSTEIN.  117 

pass  over  the  further  particulars  till  the  good 
father's  return.  By  this  time,  to  Sickendorf's 
great  comfort  and  consolation,  there  was  as 
much  light  shed  through  the  corridor,  from  a 
great  crescet  at  one  end  and  a  lantern  at  the 
other,  as  the  passages  of  the  castle  ever  dis- 
played. It  was  not  very  brilliant,  indeed,  but 
sufficiently  so  to  show  that  Father  George's 
countenance  was  perfectly  cheerful  and  calm  ; 
and  in  answer  to  the  eager  questions  of  Fer- 
dinand, and  the  less  anxious  inquiries  of 
the  old  knight,  he  said, — "  Oh,  the  lady  is 
better  ;  't  is  but  a  little  passing  cloud,  and  she 
will  be  as  well  as  ever  ere  the  morning." 

"Have  you  let  her  blood?"  asked  Sicken- 
dorf. 

"  Nay,  no  need  of  that,"  answered  Father 
George.  "  Her  illness  came  but  from  some 
melancholy  fumes,  rising  from  the  heart  to  the 
head.  That  I  have  remedied,  and  she  is  better 
already, — but  I  must  hasten  back,  for  I  may  be 
needed  at  the  chapel." 

"  Stay,   stay,   good    father,"    cried  the  old 


118  EHRENSTEIN. 

knight;  "I  have  something  to  ask  of  you. 
I  will  go  with  you  to  the  gate  ;"  and  walking 
on  with  Father  George,  he  entertained  him 
with  an  account  of  the  apparition  he  had  seen 
in  the  hall,  and  besought  him  to  take  the 
most  canonical  means  of  laying  the  unwelcome 
visitant,  by  the  heels,  in  the  Red  Sea  ;  or  if  that 
could  not  be  done  for  a  matter  of  five  or 
ten  crowns,  at  least  to  put  up  such  prayers 
on  his  behalf,  as  would  secure  him  against  any 
farther  personal  acquaintance  with  it. 

Father  George  smiled  quietly  at  the  old 
knight's  tale,  and  assured  him  he  would  do 
his  best  in  the  case,  after  due  consideration. 
Then,  hastening  away,  he  passed  down  the  hill, 
and  just  reached  the  door  of  his  temporary 
dwelling,  when  the  sound  of  many  horses' 
feet,  coming  up  from  below,  announced  the  re- 
turn of  the  Count  to  Ehrenstein.  Father 
George,  however,  did  not  wait  to  salute  the 
nobleman  as  he  passed,  or  to  communicate 
to  him  the  fact  of  his  daughter's  illness,  but 
entered  his  little  cell,  and  closing  the  door 


EHRENSTEIN.  119 

listened  for  a  moment  or  two  as  the  long  train 
passed  by,  and  then  lighted  his  lamp. 

In  the  mean  thne  the  Count  rode  on,  with 
somewhat  jaded  horses,  and  at  a  slow  pace, 
looking  to  the  right  and  left,  through  the 
dim  obscurity  of  the  night,  as  if  he,  too,  were 
not  altogether  without  apprehensions  of  some 
terrible  sight  presenting  itself.  More  than 
once  he  struck  his  horse  suddenly  with  the 
spur,  and  not  one  word  did  he  interchange 
with  any  of  his  followers,  from  the  time  he 
crossed  the  bridge  till  he  arrived  at  the  Castle 
gates.  He  was  met  under  the  archway  by 
Sickendorf  and  Ferdinand,  the  schloss  voght,  or 
castle  bailiff,  and  two  or  three  of  the  guard. 
But  he  noticed  no  one  except  the  old  knight, 
whom  he  took  by  the  arm,  and  walked  on  with 
him  into  the  hall. 

"  What  news,  Sickendorf  ?"  he  said.  "  Has 
anything  happened  since  I  went?" 

"  Ay,  two  or  three  things,  my  lord,"  replied 
Sickendorf.      "  In   the   first    place,  the  lady 


120  EHRENSTEIN. 

Adelaide  has  been  ill,  headachy,  and  drooping, 
like  a  sick  falcon." 

"  Pooh !  some  woman's  ailment,  that  will  be 
gone  to-morrow,"  replied  the  Count. 

"Ay,  so  says  Father  George,  whom  I  sent 
for,  to  see  her,"  answered  Sickendorf.  And 
finding  that  his  lord  paid  very  little  attention 
to  the  state  of  his  daughter's  health,  he  went 
on  to  give  him  an  account  of  his  foraging 
expedition  in  the  morning,  dwelling  long  and 
minutely  upon  the  number  of  ducks,  capons, 
geese,  sheep,  and  lambs,  which  he  had  obtained, 
and  dilating  somewhat  at  large  upon  his  con- 
versation with  sundry  retainers  and  vassals  of 
the  Count  whom  he  had  summoned  in  the 
course  of  his  ride  to  present  themselves  at  the 
castle  on  the  following  day. 

Such  details  of  all  that  was  said  by  the 
peasantry  were  usually  very  much  desired  by 
the  Count,  whose  jealous  and  suspicious  dispo- 
sition made  him  eager  to  glean  every  little 
indication  of  the  feelings  and  sentiments  of  the 


EHRENSTEIN.  121 

people  towards  him,  but  on  the  present  occasion 
Sickendorf's  long-winded  narrative  seemed  to 
weary  and  irritate  him,  and  after  many  not 
very  comj)limentary  interjections,  he  stopped 
him,  saying,  "  There,  there,  that  will  do ;  there 
will  be  enough,  doubtless,  both  of  geese  and 
asses,  capons  and  boors;"  and  he  remained 
standing  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground, 
in  thought. 

"  I  fear,  my  good  lord,"  said  the  bluff  old 
soldier,  who  generally  took  the  liberty  of 
saying  what  he  liked,  "  that  you  have  not  been 
very  successful  in  your  expedition  ;  for  you 
seem  to  have  come  home  in  a  mighty  ill 
humour — I  suppose  the  money  isn't  so  much 
as  you  expected." 

"  No,  no  ;  it  is  not  that,"  answered  the 
Count,  "  I  never  expected  any  till  this  morn- 
ing, so  it  is  all  pure  gain,  and  a  good  large 
sum  too,  when  it  arrives.  Heaven  send  it  come 
safe!  for  Count  Frederick  has  not  brought  it 
with  him,  but  trusted  it  to  some  of  the  lazy 
merchants  of   Pisa.  —  No,  no,  it    isn't  that. 


122  EHRENSTEIN. 

Sickendorf.  But  there  are  things  I  love  not 
about  this  place.  By  Heaven !  I  have  a  great 
mind  to  take  a  torch,  set  fire  to  yon  old  rafters, 
and  burn  the  whole  of  it  to  the  ground." 

"  Better  do  that  to  your  enemy's  man- 
sion than  your  own,''  answered  Sickendorf, 
drily,  and  a  good  deal  surprised  at  his  lord's 
vehemence. 

"  Ay,  but  my  enemy  has  a  house  that 
won't  burn,"  answered  the  Count.  "  You 
can't  burn  the  grave,  Sickendorf — that's  a 
vain  effort.  What  I  mean  is,  that  these 
stories  of  spirits  and  unearthly  beings  wan- 
dering here  and  there  around  us,  oppress  me, 
Sickendorf.  Why  should  I  call  them  stories  l 
Have  I  not  seen?     Do  1  not  know  ?" 

"  Ay,  and  I  have  seen,  too,"  answered 
Sickendorf;  "but  I  never  knew  you  had,  my 
good  lord." 

"  Why,  this  very  night,"  continued  the 
Count,  grasping  his  arm  tight,  and  speaking 
in  a  low  tone,  "  as  I  came  through  the  woods, 
wherever  I  turned  my  eyes,  I  saw  nought  but 


EHRENSTEIN.  123 

dim  figures,  flitting  about  amongst  the  trees ; 
none  distinct  enough  to  trace  either  form  or 
feature,  but  still  sufficiently  clear  to  show  that 
the  tale  of  the  peasants  and  the  women  is  but 
too  true — ." 

"  Peasants  and  women,  sir ! "  cried  Sicken- 
dorf.  **'  Knights  and  soldiers,  too,  if  you  please. 
Why,  within  the  last  two  months,  ghosts  have 
been  as  plenty  in  the  castle  as  holly  berries 
on  the  hills.  'Tis  but  this  very  night,  that,  as 
I  stood  talking  to  Bertha  about  her  lady's 
illness,  here  where  we  now  stand — just  in  the 
twilight,  between  day  and  night — a  tall,  lank 
figure,  in  long,  thin,  flowing  robes, — it  might 
be  in  a  shroud,  for  ought  I  know  —  crossed 
from  that  door  to  that,  and  disappeared.  We 
both  of  us  saw  it,  for  her  scream  made  me 
turn  round.  So  you  see  the  very  hall  itself 
is  not  safe.  There  should  always  be  a  tankard 
of  red  wine  standing  here — for  I've  heard  that 
spirits  will  not  come  near  red  wine." 

"  Methinks  we  should  soon  find  j)lenty  of 
ghosts  to  drink  it,"  answered  the  Count,  with 


124 


EHRENSTEIN. 


a  bitter  laugh.  "  But  it  is  very  strange.  I  have 
done  nought  to  merit  this  visitation." 

"  Something  must  be  done  to  remedy  it,  my 
good  lord,"  replied  Sickendorf,  "  that  is  clear, 
or  they  will  drive  us  out  of  this  hall  as  they 
drove  us  out  of  the  old  one — That's  to  say, 
I  suppose  it  was  the  ghosts  drove  us  out  of  that ; 
for  though  you  did  not  say  why  you  left  it, 
all  men  suspected  you  had  seen  something." 

The  Count  took  a  step  or  two  backwards 
and  forwards  in  the  room,  and  then  pausing 
opposite  to  Sickendorf,  he  replied,  "No,  my 
good  friend,  I  saw  nought  there  but  in  fancy. 
Yet  was  the  fancy  very  strong !  Each  time 
I  stood  in  that  hall  alone,  it  seemed  as  if  my 
brother  came  and  stood  beside  me ;  walked 
as  I  walked ;  and  when  I  sat,  placed  himself 
opposite,  glaring  at  me  with  the  cold  glassy 
eyes  of  death.  It  was  fancy — I  know  it  was 
fancy ;  for  once  I  chased  the  phantom  back 
against  the  bare  cold  wall,  and  there  it  dis- 
appeared ;  but  yet  the  next  night  it  was  there 
again. — Why  should  it  thus  torment  me,"  he 


EHRENSTEIN.  125 

continued  vehemently.  "  I  slew  him  not ;  I 
ordered  no  one  to  slay  him  ;  I  have  done  him 
no  wrong."  And  he  walked  quickly  up  and 
down  the  room  again,  while  Sickendorf  followed 
more  slowly,  repeating, 

"  Well,  my  good  lord,  it's  clear  some- 
thing must  be  tried  to  stop  this,  or  we 
shan't  get  soldiers  to  stay  in  the  castle. 
The  rascals  don't  mind  fighting  anything  of 
flesh  and  blood,  but  they  are  not  fond  of 
meeting  with  a  thing  when  they  don't  know 
what  it  is.  So  I  thought  it  the  best  way  to 
speak  with  Father  George  about  it,  and  ask 
him  to  lay  my  ghost  —  I've  had  enough  of  it, 
and  don't  wish  to  see  such  a  thing  any  more." 

"  You  did  wrong — you  did  wrong,  Sicken- 
dorf," answered  his  lord.  "  I  do  not  wish 
these  monks  to  meddle,  they  will  soon  be 
fancying  that  some  great  crime  has  been  com- 
mitted, and  putting  us  all  to  penance,  if  not 
worse.  We  must  find  means  to  lay  the  ghost 
ourselves — spirit  or  devil,  or  whatever  it  may 
be." 


126  EHRENSTEIN. 

"  Well,  then,  my  good  lord,  the  only  way 
is  to  laugh  at  it,"  answered  Sickendorf.  "  I 
dare  say  one  may  become  familiar  with  it  in 
time,  though  it 's  ugly  enough  at  first.  One 
gets  accustomed  to  everything,  and  why  not  to 
a  ghost  ?  We  '11  jest  at  him ;  and  if  he  comes 
near  me,  I  '11  throw  the  stool  at  his  head,  and 
see  if  that  will  lay  him — I  am  very  sorry  I 
spoke  to  Father  George,  if  it  displeases  you ; 
but,  however,  there's  not  much  harm  done, 
for  the  grey  gowns  of  the  abbey  know  every- 
thing that  goes  on ;  and  the  devil  himself  can't 
conceal  his  game  from  them." 

"  Too  much,  too  much,"  answered  the  Count ; 
"  they  're  the  pests  of  the  land,  prying  and 
spying,  and  holding  their  betters  in  subjection. 
We  are  but  the  vassals  of  these  monks,  Sick- 
endorf; and  if  I  had  my  will,  I  'd  burn  their 
rookery  about  their  ears." 

"  Ah,  here  comes  Karl  Von  Mosbach,"  cried 
Sickendorf,  glad  to  escape  giving  an  answer 
.to  his  lord's  diatribe  against  the  monks,  for 
whom  he  retained  all  the  superstitious  venera- 


EHRENSTEIN.  127 

tion  of  an  earlier  period.  "  Ay,  and  the 
Lady  Adelaide,  too  !  Why,  bless  your  beauti- 
ful eyes,  yon  girl  there  told  me  you  were  ill, 
fair  lady!" 

"  I  have  been  somewhat  indisposed,  but  I 
am  well  again  now,"  answered  Adelaide,  ad- 
vancing to  her  father.  The  Count,  however, 
took  little  notice  of  her,  calling  Bertha  to  him, 
and  making  her  give  him  an  account  of  what 
she  and  Sickendorf  had  seen. 

"  Fancy,  fancy,  my  dear  father,"  cried  Ade- 
laide, when  the  girl  had  done,  laughing  much 
more  joyously  than  was  her  wont.  "These 
tales  are  told  and  listened  to,  till  the  eyes 
become  accomplices  of  the  imagination,  and 
both  combine  to  cheat  us.  Bertha  came  down 
in  the  grey  twilight,  to  say  that  I  was  ill ;  and 
I  will  warrant,  went  trembling  along  the  dark 
passages,  and  taking  every  suit  of  armour,  and 
every  shadow  through  the  window,  of  soldier 
or  of  warder  passing  without,  for  a  grim  spirit 
in  a  shroud." 

"  Nay,  nay,  dear  lady,"  cried  Bertha,  and 


128  EHRENSTEIN. 

was  about  to  defend  herself,  but  the  Count  cut 
her  short,  turning  to  his  daughter  with  a  smile, 
and  saying,  "  So  these  tales  have  not  infected 
your  fancy,  Adelaide.  You  have  no  fears  of 
ghosts  or  spirits?" 

"  Not  I,  indeed,"  answered  the  lady.  "  First, 
because  I  have  never  seen  them,  and  next, 
because  I  know  they  would  not  hurt  me,  if  I 
did.  If  they  be  unsubstantial  they  cannot 
harm  me ;  and  if  I  be  innocent,  they  would 
not  seek  to  do  so,  if  they  could.  I  fear  them 
not,  my  father,  and  I  only  pray,  if  any  are 
seen  more,  I  may  be  called  to  behold  them 
too." 

The  fair  girl  spoke  more  boldly  and  more 
lightly  than  she  usually  did,  and  through  the 
rest  of  the  evening  the  same  cheerful  spirit 
did  not  leave  her.  Seated  with  her  father  at 
the  last  meal  of  the  day,  she  cheered  him  with 
conversation,  and  asked  many  a  question  re- 
garding Count  Frederick  of  Leiningen,  and 
those  he  brought  in  his  train. 

"  There  is   none    that  will   fit  thee  for  a 


EHRENSTEIX.  129 

husband,  I  fear,  my  cliild,"  replied  tlie  Count 
wlio  for  the  time  had  caught  a  portion  of  his 
daughter's  gaiety.  "  They  are  all  bluff  old 
soldiers,  like  Sickendorf  or  Mosbach  there. 
Even  his  very  jester  is  white-headed,  and  his 
dwarf  like  a  withered  pippin." 

"  Methinks  it  would  not  be  easy  to  jest  if 
one  were  old,"  said  Adelaide.  "  Gravity  and 
age,  I  have  always  thought  twin  sisters." 

"  No,  no,"  replied  the  Count,  "  that  is  be- 
cause you  know  nought  of  the  world,  dear 
girl.  Why  Count  Frederick  himself  is  just 
the  same  gay,  joyous  soul  as  ever,  and  is  as 
old  as  I  am,  or  a  year  older.  Now,  I  dare  say, 
to  your  young  eyes,  I  seem  to  have  reached  a 
vast  antiquity,  for  it  is  only  in  looking  back 
that  space  seems  short.  It  appears  but  yester- 
day that  I  was  a  boy." 

"  Nay,  I  do  not  think  you  so  very  old," 
replied  his  daughter,  smiling,  "when  I  set 
you  against  Sickendorf,  you  seem  but  a  youth." 

"  But  when   you   compare  me  with  Ferdi- 

VOL.    I.  K 


130  EHRENSTEIN. 

nand,"   replied   her  father,  laughmg,   "  I   am 
quite  an  old  man.     Is  it  not  so,  child  ? " 

Adelaide  neither  answered  nor  coloured,  as 
might  have  been  perhaps  expected,  but  smiled 
faintly  and  fell  into  thought ;  for  it  is  wonder- 
ful what  a  vast  chain  of  associations  is  very 
often  spread  out  before  the  mind,  by  a  few 
very  simple  words ;  and  those  associations  are 
nine  times  out  of  ten  totally  different  from  any 
that  the  speaker  intended  to  awaken. 

It  was  so  in  this  case.  The  comparison  of 
her  lover's  light  and  active  youth,  with  the 
gay  rose  upon  the  cheek,  the  glossy  unchanged 
hair,  the  movements  full  of  elastic  life,  the  eye 
lighted  up  with  that  heart's  fire,  which,  like  the 
watcher's  lamp,  grows  slowly  dimmer  with 
each  passing  hour,  and  her  j)ale,  thoughtful 
father,  with  his  stern  look,  his  rigid  air,  his  hair 
thickly  scattered  with  the  snow  of  time,  went 
on  to  take  in  the  two  elder  men  where  the 
progress  of  decay  had  passed  its  first  stage ; 
and  at  each  step  her  fancy  halted  to  ask,  "  And 
will  he  whom  I  love  soon  be  like  this — and 


EHRENSTEIN.  131 

this  1 "  Her  father  had  said,  it  seemed  but 
yesterday  that  he  was  a  boy ;  and  Adelaide 
thought,  "  It  may  be  but  to-morrow  ere  I  look 
back  upon  these  days  and  feel  the  same. 
From  time  to  time  a  sudden  consciousness  of 
the  great  truth,  that  mortal  life  is  but  a  point 
amidst  eternity,  seems  to  burst  upon  us  and 
is  then  lost  again — the  whisper  of  an  angel 
drowned  in  the  tumult  of  earthly  hopes  and 
fears. 

Before  she  had  roused  herself  from  her 
reverie,  Sickendorf  had  taken  up  the  con- 
versation, saying,  "  And  so,  my  good  lord. 
Count  Frederick  is  as  gay  and  jovial  as  ever? 
I  remember  you  and  him,  and  the  late  Count, 
your  brother,  all  curly  headed  boys  together — 
two  merry  ones  and  one  grave  one ;  for  you 
were  always  more  serious  than  the  rest." 

"  Because  I  had  less  cause  for  merriment," 
replied  the  Count,  with  a  cloud  coming  over 
his  brow.  "  They  wanted  to  make  a  priest  of 
me  at  that  time,  Sickendorf;  and  it  was  not  to 
my  taste — But  do  not  let  us  talk  of  those  days. 

K  2 


132  EHRENSTEIN, 

The  past  is  always  a  sad  subject.  You  will 
see  our  friend  to-morrow  ;  for  he  will  be  here 
ere  nightfall,  and  may  stop  a  week  or  more,  so 
that  we  must  have  all  things  prepared.  The 
great  hall,  too,  must  be  made  ready ;  for  we 
shall  not  have  room  here.  The  casements 
must  be  mended  early  to-morrow ;  and  the 
dust  cleaned  off  the  walls  and  banners." 

Sickendorf  did  not  answer,  but  looked  at 
the  Count  stedfastly,  with  an  inquiring  air,  in 
reply  to  which  his  lord  nodded,  saying,  "It 
must  be  done." 

"  By  my  faith  !  my  good  lord,"  cried  Karl 
Von  Mosbach,  "you  won't  get  many  people 
willing  to  do  it ;  for  every  one  says  that  the 
hall  is  haunted  ;  and  we  love  not  even  passing 
by  the  door." 

"  We  will  have  it  sprinkled  with  holy  vf  ater," 
replied  the  Count,  somewhat  bitterly  ;  "  but  do 
not  tell  me  that  any  of  my  men  will  refuse  to 
obey  my  orders,  or  I  will  shame  you  all  by  a 
girl." 

There  was   no   reply ;    and   the   Count  de- 


EHREXSTEIN.  133 

manded  angrily,  addressing  himself  to  none  in 
particular,  "  Are  you  afraid  1 " — Here,  Ade- 
laide, will  you  undertake  to  deck  the  hall  with 
flowers,  and  strew  the  floor  with  rushes  ? " 

"Willingly,  willingly,  my  dear  father," 
answered  the  fair  girl ;  "  and  you  shall  see 
how  gaily  I  will  trick  it  out." 

"  I  beseech  you,  my  lord,  to  pardon  me," 
said  Ferdinand,  "  but  I  am  not  afraid  at  all  to 
obey  anything  that  you  command ;  and  I  can 
very  well  spare  the  Lady  Adelaide  the  trouble 
in  the  hall ;  if  she  will  but  wreathe  the  gar- 
lands for  me." 

"  You  have  a  heart  of  steel,  good  youth," 
replied  the  Count ;  "  what  if  I  tell  you  now  to 
go  and  bring  me  the  banner  which  hangs 
between  the  shields  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
hall?" 

"  I  will  do  it  at  once,  my  lord,"  rej^lied  Fer- 
dinand, rising. 

The  Count  fixed  his   eyes  upon  him,   and 
Adelaide   also   gazed   at  him  earnestly.     Th 
young   man's   cheek   might   lose    a   shade   of 


134  EHRENSTEIN. 

colour ;  but  still  lie  seemed  perfectly  willing ; 
and  his  lord  nodded,  saying,  "  Go  ! " 

"  I  must  take  a  light,  or  I  may  not  be  able 
to  get  down  the  banner,"  replied  Ferdinand. 

"  The  moon  shines  clear  through  the  case- 
ments," answered  the  Count.  "  You  will  need 
no  other  light." 

The  young  man  made  no  reply,  but  drew 
his  sword-belt  a  little  forward  and  walked 
calmly  to  the  door.  One  or  two  of  the  men 
followed  him  out  of  the  room ;  not  with  the 
intention  of  accompanying  him ;  for  none  of 
them  very  much  liked  the  task,  but  merely 
with  the  idle  curiosity  of  seeing  him  cross  the 
passages  and  enter  the  hall.  In  a  minute  or 
two  they  returned ;  and  one  of  them  said, 
"  He  has  got  in,  my  lord,  but  whether  he  will 
come  out  again,  I  can't  tell." 

"  Got  in  !"  repeated  the  Count,  "  What  do 
you  mean,  Ernst?" 

"  Why,  we  watched  him  from  the  stone 
steps,"  replied  the  soldier,  "  and  he  lifted  the 
latch  and  shook  the  door,  but  at  first  it  would 


EHRENSTEIN.  135 

not  open.  After  a  while,  however,  it  was 
suddenly  flung  back,  and  in  he  went." 

"  Did  he  close  it  behind  him  1 "  asked  the 
Count,  and  Adelaide  gazed  anxiously  on  the 
man's  face,  in  expectation  of  his  answer. 

"  Some  one  did,"  replied  the  soldier,  "  but  I 
can't  tell  whether  it  was  he  or  not." 

Thus  saying  he  took  his  seat  again  at  the 
table,  and  all  remained  silent  for  several  minutes, 
waiting  with  different  degrees  of  anxiety  for 
the  result. 

"  The  boy  is  mad,"  murmured  Sickendorf,  to 
himself,  after  two  or  three  more  minutes  had 
elapsed  ;  and  then  he  added  aloud,  "  Hundred 
thousand!  we  must  not  leave  this  lad  to  be 
strangled  by  the  ghosts,  or  devils,  or  whatever 
they  are,  my  lord." 

"  I  will  go  myself,"  replied  the  Count,  rising 
from  the  table  ;  "  let  those  who  will,  follow 
me." 

"  Stay,  let  us  get  some  torches,"  cried  Karl 
Von  Mosbach. 

But  just  at  that  moment  there  w^as  a  clang 


136  EHRENSTEIN. 

which  shook  the  whole  castle ;  and  while  the 
party  assembled  gazed  on  each  other's  faces  in 
doubt  and  consternation,  the  door  of  the  hall  in 
which  they  were  was  thrown  quickly  open, 
and  Perdinand  entered  bearing  a  banner  in  his 
hand.  His  face  was  very  pale  ;  but  his  brow 
was  stern  and  contracted,  and  advancing  direct 
towards  the  Count,  who  had  come  down  from 
the  step  on  which  his  table  was  raised,  he  laid 
the  banner  before  him. 

"  His  lord  gazed  from  the  banner  to  his  face, 
and  from  his  face  back  to  the  banner,  which 
was  torn  and  soiled,  and  stained  in  many  places 
with  blood.  "  How  is  this  ?"  he  exclaimed,  at 
length.     "  This  is  not  what  I  sent  you  for  !" 

"  This  is  the  banner,  my  lord,"  replied  Ferdi- 
nand ;  "  which  was  hanging  between  the  two 
shields  at  the  farther  end  of  the  hall,  over  your 
chair  of  state." 

Old  Sickendorf  bent  down  over  the  tattered 
silk,  on  which  was  embroidered  a  lion  with  its 
paw  upon  a  crescent ;  and  as  he  did  so,  he  mur- 
mured, with  a  shake  of  the  head,  "  Your  bro- 


EHRENSTEIN.  137 

ther's  banner,  sir,  wliicli  lie  carried  with  him  to 
the  East." 

"What  have  you  seen?"  demanded  the 
Count,  sinking  his  voice,  and  fixing  his  eyes 
upon  the  young  man's  countenance. 

"  Not  now,  my  lord,"  replied  Ferdinand, 
in  the  same  low  tone  ;  "  another  time,  when 
you  are  alone,  and  have  leisure." 

The  Count  made  no  reply,  but  seated  himself 
at  the  table,  and  leaned  his  head  thoughtfully 
upon  his  hand  for  a  moment  or  two,  while  the 
rest  of  the  party  remained  in  groups  around, 
some  gazing  from  a  distance  at  the  banner, 
some  looking  at  it  more  closely,  but  none 
speaking  in  a  louder  tone  than  a  low  whisper. 
It  was  not,  indeed,  that  they  were  kept  silent 
by  any  ceremonious  respect  for  their  lord ;  for 
those  were  days  of  much  homely  freedom 
of  demeanor ;  and  that  distance  and  reserve 
did  not  exist  between  a  chief  and  his  followers 
which  a  higher  and  more  fastidious  state  of 
civilization  has  introduced.  But  there  was 
a   feeling   of   awe   approaching   to   terror,   in 


138  EHRENSTEIN. 

the  bosoms  of  all,  which  oppressed  them  in 
their  speech.  Each  asked  himself,  what  could 
this  mysterious  event  mean  ?  how  had  the  ban- 
ner come  where  it  was  found  1  what  did  it 
all  portend  ?  for  none,  in  those  days  of  supersti- 
tion, doubted  that  the  event  which  had  just 
taken  place  was  an  omen  of  others  yet  to  come. 
The  pale  cheek  with  which  Ferdinand  of  Alten- 
burg  had  returned,  too,  and  his  grave  stern 
look,  as  he  stood  by  the  table  where  he  had 
lately  been  sitting,  attracted  observation,  and 
led  every  one  to  believe  that  there  was  more 
to  be  told,  though  they  had  not  heard  his  reply 
to  their  lord's  question. 

At  length,  however,  to  the  surprise  of  all, 
the  Count  suddenly  shook  off  his  gloomy  and 
abstracted  look,  and  pushed  across  the  flagon 
of  choice  wine,  which  stood  at  his  right,  to  his 
young  follower,  saying,  with  a  laugh,  "  Come, 
drink  a  cup  of  wine  to  me,  Ferdinand  the 
ghost-queller.  By  the  Lord!  there  is  not  a 
braver  man  amongst  us  than  thou  art,  boy. 
Would  to  Heaven !  that  all  here  would  follow 


EHRENSTEIN.  139 

thine  examj)le.  I,  for  one,  will  do  so,  and 
think  no  more  of  these  strange  things  than 
if  they  were  but  the  whisperings  of  the  wind 
through  the  trees.  Drink,  good  youth !  drink." 
Ferdinand  filled  a  cup  and  drank  to  his  lord ; 
and  the  next  moment  the  Count  rose  again, 
exclaiming,  "  Now,  to  bed,  to  bed,  we  must 
all  be  up  by  cock-crow  for  our  preparations.  I 
will  sup  in  the  old  hall  to-morrow,  if  all  the 
devils  on  the  earth  or  under  it  should  be 
its  tenants  ;"  and  thus  saying  he  left  the  room, 
followed  quickly  by  Ferdinand,  who  did  not 
choose  to  undergo  the  questionings  of  his 
comrades.  The  others  remained  for  a  few 
minutes,  shaking  the  wise  head  and  comment- 
ing gravely ;  and  then  by  threes  and  fours 
quitted  the  hall,  and  retired  to  rest ;  but  there 
was  much  oil  burned  in  the  Castle  of  Ehren- 
stein  that  night. 


140 


EHRENSTEIN. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  Count  of  Ehrenstein  tossed  uneasily  on 
his  bed,  in  that  state  between  sleeping  and 
waking,  when  the  mind  neither  enjoys  quiet 
repose,  nor  yet  lives  as  an  active  being  dis- 
severed from  the  body,  in  continuous  and 
regular  dreams — when  scattered  and  disjointed 
fragments  of  visions  cross  the  imagination — 
when  voices  call  and  suddenly  sink  away  from 
the  ear — when  figures  appear  for  an  instant, 
and  are  lost  before  we  can  accurately  see  what 
they  are.  Often  his  bosom  heaved  and  panted, 
as  if  oppressed  with  some  terrible  load.  Often 
murmured  words  and  smothered  cries  broke 
low  and  indistinctly  from  his  lips.  Often  the 
eyeballs  would  roll  under  their  filmy  curtain^ 


EHRENSTEIN.  141 

as  if  some  sight  of  horror  presented  itself  to 
fancy. 

At  length  the  grey  light  of  day  streamed 
through  the  narrow  window,  and  fell  upon  the 
sleeping  man's  countenance  ;  and  then  having 
turned  for  a  moment  from  side  to  side,  he 
started  up  and  gazed  towards  the  casement, 
with  a  bewildered  look,  as  if  he  knew  not 
where  he  was.  After  leaning  his  head  upon 
his  hand,  and  apparently  thinking  deeply  for 
several  minutes,  he  rose  and  dressed  himself 
without  aid.  Then  walking  to  the  little  dark 
anteroom,  in  which  two  of  his  attendants,  or 
knechts,  were  sleej)ing,  he  drew  back  the  bolt 
of  the  door — for  his  was  not  a  heart  without 
suspicion — and  stirred  one  of  the  men  with 
his  foot,  as  he  lay  upon  the  ground,  bidding 
him  go  and  tell  Ferdinand  of  Altenburg  to 
come  down  upon  the  eastern  rampart  imme- 
diately. Having  given  these  orders,  he  himself 
issued  forth,  and  walked  slowly  up  and  down, 
now  casting  his  eyes  upon  the  stones  beneath 
his  feet,  now  gazing  at  the  rising  sun.     But 


142  EHRENSTEIN. 

few  minutes  had  elajosed,  however,  ere  Fer- 
dinand was  at  his  side,  and  the  Count  turned 
towards  him,  saying,  "What !  up  so  early  ?  You 
should  have  no  dreams,  young  man,  to  break 
your  rest." 

"  Nay,  my  lord,"  replied  Ferdinand,  "  every 
one  dreams,  I  suppose.  Have  you  been  dis- 
turbed?" 

"  That  have  I,"  answered  the  Count.  "  I 
have  seldom  passed  a  more  troublous  night, 
and  yet  I  was  weary,  too,  when  I  went  to  rest.'" 

"  Were  they  good  or  evil  visions,  my  lord," 
asked  the  young  man.  "  Mine  were  all 
bright." 

"  Would  that  mine  had  been  so ! "  answered 
the  Count.  "  But  they  were  wild  and  whirling 
things,  and  't  is  no  matter  —  and  yet  these 
undigested  thoughts,"  he  continued,  after  a 
short  pause,  "these  fanciful  nothings  of  the 
dreaming  brain,  trouble  us  as  much  at  the 
time  as  fierce  realities  —  nay,  perhaps  more. 
I  have  suffered  more  bitterly,  at  times,  in  some 
dark   vision  of  the  night  —  yes,  even  in  my 


EHRENSTEIN.  143 

corporeal  frame,  —  than  even  choking  death 
itself  could  inflict.  I  cannot  but  think  that 
there  is  a  land  to  which  the  spirits  of  the 
sleeping  travel  for  a  time,  and  undergo  a 
strange  and  wayward  fate,  till  they  are  called 
back  again.  I've  often  fancied  there  must  be 
such  a  place  :  a  kingdom  of  dreams,  as  it 
were,  to  which  all  the  strange  actions  and 
thoughts  of  the  world  are  sent  as  soon  as 
done,  as  a  sort  of  commodity  or  merchandize, 
and  there  are  mingled  up  by  some  fantastic 
power  with  the  productions  of  the  land  itself. 
There  go  the  images  of  the  dead,  the  voices 
that  are  lost  upon  the  earth,  the  passionate 
loves  and  follies  of  our  youth,  the  thirsty 
ambition  of  our  manhood,  the  crimes  and  the 
temptations  of  all  years,  even  the  very  thoughts 
of  infancy,  and  there  we  find  them  all,  when 
the  spirit  is  summoned  from  the  slumbering 
body  to  visit  that  strange  country.  Else,  how 
is  it,  that  when  we  lie  with  darkness  all  around  us, 
no  sight,  no  sound,  no  scent,  to  wake  up  memory, 
things  long  forgotten,  faces  that  no  effort  of  the 


144  EHRENSTEIN. 

waking  mind  could  call  before  the  eye  of  fancy, 
voices  that  have  long  ceased  to  ring  in  the 
deafened  ear  of  forgetfulness,  come  upon  us, 
all  strong  and  vivid  as  reality ;  ay,  even  the 
feelings  also  no  longer  suited  to  our  state  of 
being,  totally  dissonant  to  the  condition  of  our 
corporeal  frame  or  to  our  mental  age : — such 
as  the  joys  and  pastimes  of  our  early  boyhood, 
and  the  prattled  pleasures  of  our  baby  days  ? — 
Yet  there  they  all  are — bright  as  if  in  life,  though 
strangely  mixed  with  other  wilder  things,  and 
cast  into  mad  impossible  array.  Last  night 
it  seemed  as  if  every  action  of  my  life,  charmed 
by  some  frantic  Orpheus,  danced  around  me 
in  wild  and  grotesque  forms — never  pausing 
till  I  had  leisure  to  taste  one  joy,  or  power  to 
resist  one  pang.  Would  to  Heaven!  I  could 
be  a  boy  again,  and,  with  the  knowledge  of 
each  act's  results,  live  over  life  anew — It  would 
be  a  very  different  one  ! " 

Ferdinand  had  let  him  proceed  without 
observation  or  question ;  indeed  he  was  too 
much  surprised  to  answer,  for  he  had  never 


EHRENSTEIN.  145 

before  heard  the  Count  sj^eak  thus  to  any  one. 
It  seemed,  in  truth,  more  as  if  he  were  talking 
to  himself  than  to  his  companion ;  as  if  the 
weight  of  thought  overpowered  him,  and  he 
cast  down  the  burden  where  he  could.     But 
the  young  man's  surprise  was  not  less  excited 
by  the  matter  of  the  confidence,  than  by  the 
confidence   itself.     He   knew   the  Count  was 
learned  far  beyond  most  of  the  nobles  of  his 
day.     He  knew  that  he  w^as  thoughtful ;  but 
he  had  ever  seemed   in   disposition,   worldly, 
grasping,     avaricious;     evil   qualities,    as    he 
thought,    perfectly   incompatible   with    fancy. 
In  his  inexperience  of  the  world,  he  was  not 
aware  how  frequently  habits  of  thought  and  of 
desire — often  produced  in  us  by  the  operation 
of  a  long  train  of  ruling  circumstances — over- 
bear the  natural  bent  of  the  mind,  and  lead  us 
to  a  course  of  life,  and  to  innumerable  actions, 
utterly  inharmonious  with  the  original  tone  of 
the  character.     It  is  so  ;  and  there  is  scarcely 
any  man  who  is  not  thus  walled  in  by  circum- 
stances in  his  com*se;  scarcely  any  tree  that, 

VOL.    I.  L 


146  EHRENSTEIN. 

however  uprlglit  its  original  shoot,  is  not  bent 
by  the  prevaiHng  wind.  Nevertheless,  when 
the  mind  is  left  free  for  a  moment  from  the 
habitual  influences, — when  the  passions  that 
have  been  indulged  are  not  called  into  play, — 
when  the  desires  that  have  usurped  a  sway 
over  us,  are  for  a  time  without  either  object  or 
opposition,  the  original  character  of  the  mind 
is  suffered  to  indulge  itself  for  a  brief  space, 
like  a  prisoner  allowed  a  few  moments  of  free 
air.  So  was  it  with  the  Count  of  Ehrenstein. 
Busy  with  the  thoughts  which  had  succeeded 
to  his  dreams,  he  forgot  not  oi9y  his  motives 
for  sending  for  the  young  man  at  his  side,  but 
also  his  habitual  reserve;  and  led  from  one 
feeling  to  another,  as  he  discoursed  imagina- 
tively of  the  visions  of  the  night,  he  was 
hurried  on  to  admit  those  sensations  of  regret 
which,  sooner  or  later,  visit  every  one  of 
Adam's  race,  but  which  the  pride  that  entered 
in  us  at  the  Fail  forbids  us  to  acknowledge. 

Ferdinand    had   walked    on    by   his    side, 
thoughtful  and  interested,  with  his  eyes,  too, 


EHRENSTEIN,  147 

bent  down  upon  the  pavement  of  tlie  rampart, 
and  eager  to  hear  more.  But  soon  after  the 
Count  paused,  the  young  man  brought  the 
confession,  if  it  may  be  so  called,  to  a  conclu- 
sion, by  asking  a  question  which  would  na- 
turally rise  in  any  simple  and  straightforward 
heart,  saying, — "  Is  it  not  very  easy  to  repair, 
my  lord,  that  which  has  been  done  amiss  ?" 

"  No,  no,  youth,"  answered  the  Count, 
turning  upon  him,  and  speaking  almost  bit- 
terly, "  that  is  a  foolish  error.  It  is  never 
possible  to  repair  aught  that  has  been  done 
amiss.  Each  act,  once  performed,  is  irrevo- 
cable. It  is  more, — it  is  a  foundation-stone 
upon  which,  under  the  lash  of  the  stern  task- 
master, Fate,  we  must,  whether  we  will  or  not, 
build  up  a  part  of  the  fabric  of  our  life.  Now 
do  not  go,  silly  boy !  and  from  what  I  have 
said  raise  up  in  your  fanciful  brain  a  belief  that 
I  have  committed  great  crimes,  and  bitterly 
repent  them.  It  is  with  me  as  with  all  men 
who  have  power  to  think,  and  who  try  from 
the   past  to   extract   guidance  for   the  future. 

L  2 


148  EHRENSTEIN. 

I  see  small  errors  producing  greater  evils  ;  I 
see  pitiful  mistakes,  which  were  thought 
nothing  at  first,  swelling  with  bitter  conse- 
quences,— but  nothing  more.  Every  man, 
Ferdinand,"  and  he  laid  his  hand  upon  his 
shoulder  with  a  sort  of  monitory  gesture, 
"  every  man  who  has  passed  through  a  great 
part  of  life,  is  like  one  who  has  climbed  a 
mountain  and  is  destined  to  descend  on  the 
other  side.  If  he  turns  round  to  look  at  the 
country  he  has  travelled,  he  sees  it  spread  forth 
beneath  him,  with  all  its  roads  and  passes, 
rivers  and  valleys,  laid  out  as  in  a  map,  and  he 
will  ever  find  he  has  often  lost  his  way ;  that 
there  were  paths  which  would  have  led  him  to 
his  object  shorter  than  those  he  has  taken ; 
that  the  objects  on  which  he  has  fixed  his 
eyes  to  guide  him  on,  were  often  wide  of  the 
right  course ;  and,  in  a  word,  that  he  has  not 
accomplished,  in  the  summer  day  of  life,  one- 
half  he  might  have  done,  wath  less  labour,  and 
by  easier  means.  And  now  let  us  speak  of 
other  things.     You  would  not  say  last  night 


EHRENSTEIN.  149 

what  you  liad  seen  in  the  old  hall ;  now  tell 
me  what  l3efell  you  there.  We  were  then  in 
the  hour  of  fanciful  conceits,  when  the  imagi- 
nation wanders  and  easily  receives  false  impres- 
sions. We  are  now  in  the  broad  light  of  the 
real  day,  and  you  can  better  tell,  and  I  can 
better  understand  whatever  you  may  have  wit- 
nessed there." 

"  I  did  not  wish  to  sjDeak  last  night,  my 
lord,"  rej)lied  Ferdinand,  in  a  calm  and  easy 
tone,  "  because  all  the  people  about  us  have 
filled  themselves  with  fears  which  Avould  be 
quite  as  well  away;  and  all  I  had  to  say 
would  only  have  made  them  more  afraid. 
I  went  straight  to  the  hall  as  you  directed-  — 
I  do  not  mean  to  say  thai  I  would  not  rather 
have  had  a  light — but  neither  flesh  nor  spirit 
shall  turn  me  from  doing  what  I  have  under- 
taken to  perform.  I  found  the  door  fastened, 
however,  and  after  having  lifted  the  latch,  I 
shook  it  hard,  but  it  did  not  give  way.  For 
a  minute,  I  thought  of  coming  back  to  tell 
you ;  but  then  I  fancied  that  you  and  the  rest 


150  EHRENSTEIN. 

might  doubt  me,  and  I  tried  again.  Just  tlien 
I  think  I  heard  a  heavy  grating  sound,  but, 
however,  the  door  opened,  and  I  went  in.  At 
first  I  could  hardly  see — " 

"Why,  the  moon  shone,  and  must  have 
given  plenty  of  light  through  the  windows," 
replied  the  Count. 

"  There  was  too  much  light,  my  good  lord," 
answered  Ferdinand.  "  I  came  out  of  the 
dark  vestibule,  and  when  I  entered  the  hall, 
it  was  all  in  a  blaze  of  light.  The  suits  of 
old  armour  that  stand  against  the  wall  had, 
each  one,  a  gauntleted  hand  extended,  and  in 
it  was  a  torch.  It  seemed,  indeed,  that  there 
were  more  suits  than  usual,  but  I  did  not  stay 
to  count  them,  for  as  soon  as  I  could  see, 
I  hurried  on,  passing  the  table  where  they 
were  seated — " 

"  Who  ?  "  exclaimed  the  Count,  "  who  were 
seated?" 

"  Nay,  my  lord,  I  cannot  tell  you,"  answered 
Ferdinand.  "  Some  six  or  eight  tall  figures, 
each  wrapped   in   a   strange   garment   like  a 


EHRENSTEIN.  151 

sliroucl,  dusty  and  soiled,  as  if  they  had  Iain 
long  in  the  earth,  covering  the  head,  and 
falling  down  to  the  eyes.  My  heart  felt  very 
heavy,  and  beat  fast,  and  I  dared  not  look 
narrowly  at  them.  But  I  drew  my  sword, 
and  hurried  on,  mounting  into  the  great  chair 
to  reach  the  banner  ;  when,  just  as  I  laid  my 
hand  uj^on  it,  the  voices  of  those  round  the 
table  said,  '  Health  to  the  Count  of  Ehren- 
stein  !  health  to  the  living  dead ! '  and  looking 
round,  I  saw  that  they  had  cups  raised  high, 
as  if  they  were  pursuing  their  unearthly  was- 
sail without  seeing  or  noticing  my  presence. 
I  felt  somewhat  faint  and  sick,  but  I  tore  down 
the  banner,  breaking,  I  fear,  the  rest  that  held 
it,  and  hurried  out  as  fast  as  I  could  go.  As 
I  paused  to  take  breath,  I  heard  a  loud  clang- 
behind,  but  what  it  was  I  do  not  know." 

"  We  will  see,  we  will  see,"  said  the  Count, 
sternly;  "six  or  eight,  did  you  say?" 

"Ay,  my  good  lord,  at  the  least,"  replied 
Ferdinand. 

"  Can  there  be  some  trick  in  this?"  rejoined 


152  EHRENSTEIN. 

the  Count,  and  fell  into  a  fit  of  deep  thought, 
which  occupied  him  for  several  minutes. 
"And  yet  all  the  men  were  in  the  hall," 
he  continued,  evidently  showing  which  way 
his  suspicions  turned.  "  I  marked  the  absence 
of  none,  except  the  horse  boys." 

"They  would  not  dare,  my  lord,"  replied 
Ferdinand.  "There  is  scarce  a  man  in  the 
whole  castle  would  venture  thither  in  the 
broad  day,  and  surely  none  at  night." 

"True,  true,"  rejoined  the  Count,  "but  yet 
they  shall  venture  thither  if  I  live  till  supper 
time.  What  could  this  clang  be  that  followed 
your  coming  out?  We  all  heard  it,  even  at 
that  distance." 

"I  shall  soon  see,  my  lord,  if  it  have  left 
any  trace  behind  it,  for  should  you  hold  your 
intention  of  feasting  in  the  hall  to-night,  they 
shall  not  stop  me  from  decking  it  forth  as 
I  have  promised." 

"You  seem  right  willing  to  venture  with 
these  ghosts,"  said  the  Count,  with  his  habitual 
sharp  suspicion. 


EHRENSTEIX.  153 

"They  have  done  me  no  harm  as  yet,  my 
lord,"  answered  Ferdinand  boldly,  well  under- 
standing what  was  j^assing  in  the  Count's 
mind.  "When  you  have  seen  some  such 
sight  yourself,  you  will  believe,  but,  doubt- 
less, not  till  then.  I  would  not  myself  unless 
I  had  seen." 

"Well,  I  will  try,"  replied  the  Count. 
"  Come  with  me  now,  and  perhaps  we  may  dis- 
cover what  was  the  cause  of  this  clatter,  which 
shook  the  whole  castle  as  you  were  returning." 

He  spoke  somewhat  scornfully,  and  Ferdi- 
nand made  no  reply,  but  followed  as  his  lord 
led  on,  with  hasty  strides,  as  if  either  impatient 
to  see  the  state  of  the  hall  with  his  own  eyes,  or 
fearful  that  his  resolution  would  fail  before  his 
intention  was  fulfilled. 

On  then"  way  they  passed  through  the  lesser 
hall,  where  their  meals  were  now  usually  taken, 
and  thence  through  a  long  stone  passage,  which 
crossed  the  entrance  from  the  great  gates, 
down  a  broad  flight  of  steps,  and  into  the  vesti- 
bule by  one  of  the  smaller  doors  opposite  to 


154  EHRENSTEIN. 

tliat  of  the  great  liall.  There  the  Count  paused 
for  a  moment,  as  if  he  hesitated,  then  putting* 
his  hand  upon  the  latch,  he  lifted  it,  and  flung 
back  the  ponderous  mass  of  wood-work,  which 
yielded  at  once  to  his  hand.  With  an  eager 
and  straining  gaze,  his  eye  ran  round  the  wide 
vaulted  chamber,  which  was  vacant  of  every 
living  thing ;  but  still  the  sight  that  it  presented 
offered  strange  confirmation  of  the  tale  which 
Ferdinand  had  told.  The  twelve  suits  of  old 
armour,  no  longer  in  the  mode  and  fashion 
of  the  time,  which  had  been  for  many  years 
ranged  along  the  wall  opposite  to  the  windows, 
upon  wooden  standards  that  kept  them  in  an 
erect  position,  were  now  cast  prone  upon  the 
pavement,  and  the  lances,  swords,  and  axes, 
which  had  been  arranged  in  fanciful  devices, 
between  them,  were  likewise  strewed  upon  the 
ground  as  if  they  had  been  flung  down  at  once 
by  an  earthquake.  The  old  banners  remained 
waving  over  head,  but  that  which  had  formerly 
hung  over  the  chair  of  state,  and  which  the 
Count  had  sent  Ferdinand  to  fetch  on  the  pre- 


EHRENSTEIN.  155 

ceding  niglit,  was  no  longer  to  be  seen.  The 
chair  which  had  been  the  only  j^iece  of  furniture 
left  in  the  hall,  stood  there  still,  with  its  cushion 
of  crimson  velvet,  affording  a  strange  contrast 
to  the  air  of  desolation  presented  by  the  whole 
of  the  rest  of  the  scene ;  the  broken  casements, 
the  mouldering  banners,  the  rusty  suits  of 
armour  cast  down,  and  the  disjointed  pavement, 
with  the  green  grass  growing  up  between  the 
crevices  of  the  stone. 

The  Count  took  a  step  across  the  threshold, 
and  then  stopped  short,  repeating  several  times, 
"This  is  very  strange!"  To  have  supposed 
that  Ferdinand  himself  had  cast  the  armour 
down,  was  out  of  the  question,  for  it  would 
have  taken  him  half  an  hour  to  do  it,  and 
the  first  impression  upon  the  Count's  mind  was 
evidently  one  of  awe,  if  not  of  terror.  But  still 
there  seemed  to  be  doubts,  or  else  he  thought 
fit  to  assume  them  to  cover  the  emotions  which 
he  really  felt ;  for  after  remaining  for  several 
minutes  in  the  same  position,  he  turned  sud- 
denly round  to  his  young  companion,  inquiring. 


156  EHRENSTEIN. 

"  Where  sat  these  things  you  saw  ?  Here  is 
neither  board  nor  bench,  for  them  to  hold  their 
revels." 

Ferdinand's  face  was  very  grave,  and  even 
sad,  but  he  replied  at  once,  walking  some 
ten  paces  forward,  to  a  spot  on  the  left-hand 
side  of  the  hall ;  "  Here  they  were  seated,  my 
lord,  or  appeared  to  be  so." 

The  Count  followed  him,  and  gazed  upon 
the  ground.  "  They  have  left  no  traces  of  their 
presence,"  he  said,  at  length,  and  then  looking 
up  to  the  vacant  space  where  his  banner 
had  formerly  hung,  he  asked,  "  And  did  you 
really  take  that  thing  you  brought  me  from 
that  place.     The  rest  does  not  seem  broken." 

"I  thought  I  heard  it  break,  my  lord/* 
replied  the  young  man,  walking  on  towards  the 
chair ;  but  then,  stopping  as  he  came  up  to  it, 
he  said,  "  Here  are  the  marks  of  my  feet,  my 
lord,  in  the  dust  upon  the  cushion." 

"  Well,  well,  I  do  not  doubt  you,"  said 
the  Count,  who  had  followed ;  and  then  cross- 
ing  his   arms   upon    his    chest,    he    fell   into 


EHRENSTEIN.  157 

tliouglit  again,  from  which  he  did  not  rouse 
himself  for  a  long  time.  In  the  end  he  ex- 
claimed, with  a  start,  "  He  shall  not  drive 
me  hence— I  have  done  him  no  wrong,"  and 
with  a  slow  pace  he  trod  his  way  back  towards 
the  door.  "  There,  that  will  do,"  he  continued, 
as  Ferdinand  followed  him  out ;  "  I  do  not 
want  you  more ;  say  nothing  of  what  has  hap- 
pened to  any  one;  and  go  fly  your  hawk, 
or  wheel  your  horse  till  breakfast  time  ;  I  will 
speak  to  you  further  afterwards." 

When  the  hour  of  breakfast  came,  and  the 
household  were  assembled  in  the  hall,  the 
Count  again  called  Ferdinand  up  to  his  own 
table,  and  seemed  to  regard  him  with  much 
more  favour  than  he  had  ever  done  before ;  but 
the  young  man  remarked  that  his  lord's  eye 
wandered  round  the  chamber  in  which  they 
sat,  and  then  rested  on  the  groups  of  his 
followers  and  attendants,  as  if  calculating  whe- 
ther, with  the  numbers  which  were  to  be  added 
that  day  to  the  party  there  assembled,  the  hall 
where  they  then  were  would  contain  them  all. 


158  EHEENSTEIN. 

A  fairer  object  of  contemplation,  indeed,  was 
before  the  young  man's  eyes,  for  he  was  seated 
opposite  to  the  Lady  Adelaide,  on  Sickendorf's 
left  hand.  She  was  a  httle  paler,  perhaps,  than 
on  the  preceding  morning,  but  that  was  the 
only  trace  which  her  temporary  sickness  seemed 
to  have  left.  She  was  more  than  commonly 
gay;  indeed,  though  there  was  a  thoughtful 
and  a  feeling  tone  mingled  with  her  cheerful- 
ness, making  it  like  the  song  of  a  lark,  in 
which,  though  blithe  and  happy  on  the  whole, 
may  be  heard  sad  minor  tones  by  any  ear  that 
listens  for  them. 

When  the  meal  was  over,  the  Count  rose, 
saying,  "  Come  with  me,  Ferdinand.  Come 
hither,  Adelaide ;  "  and  walking  forth,  he 
led  the  way  to  the  corridor  above,  into  which 
the  different  apartments  occupied  by  himself, 
his  daughter,  and  the  maids,  opened  either 
directly,  or  through  their  several  ante-rooms. 
There,  after  taking  a  turn  backwards  and 
forwards,  he  turned  to  his  tv/o  young  com- 
panions, who  had  followed,  speaking  with  their 


EHRENSTEIN.  159 

looks,  and  said,  "  To  you  two  I  must  trust 
tlie  arrangement  of  tlie  great  hall  for  our 
guests  tliis  evening.  It  is  vain  to  ask  these 
dastardly  men  below,  who  are  frightened  at 
mere  shadows ;  and  the  other  hall  will  not 
hold  one-half — that  is  clear  enough." 

"  Oh,  ask  them  not,  my  dear  father,"  answered 
Adelaide.  "  I  and  Ferdinand  can  do  it  all,  and 
we  have  no  fears." 

"  Good  faith !  dear  lady,"  rejoined  Ferdinand, 
"  though  I  fear  not,  yet  I  somevrhat  doubt 
whether  unaided  we  can  accomplish  all,  at  least 
in  time.  The  armour  has  somehow  fallen  down, 
many  of  the  lozenges  of  glass  require  to  be 
replaced,  and,  in  truth,  I  hardly  know  how 
I  am  to  manage  that.  All  the  rest  we  might 
accomplish  easily  enough." 

"  That  shall  be  done  for  you,"  said  the 
Count,  "  if  you  and  Adelaide  can  do  the  rest. 
I  would  not  have  my  jesting  friend  and  his 
gay  followers  come  hither,  and  say,  that  they 
found  the  Castle  of  Ehrenstein  in  ruins,  and 
its  banquet  hall  as   if  it   never  saw  a  feagt. 


160  EHRENSTEIN. 

Do  tlie  best  you  can  to  give  it  some  air  of 
cheerfulness,  wreathe  the  crescets  and  corbels 
with  flowers  —  there  are  many  in  the  woods 
just  now  —  and  with  green  branches ;  strew 
the  pavement  over  thickly  with  rushes,  so  that 
no  flaws  be  seen.  As  I  go,  I  will  send  one  to 
repair  the  casements  who  would  beard  the 
devil  himself." 

"  He  must  come  from  far,  my  lord,"  answered 
Ferdinand,  "  for  all  the  people  near  have  got 
this  tale.  I  first  heard  it  down  at  the  Abbey  ; 
and  not  one  of  the  people  of  the  village,  I 
believe,  would  come  up  to  save  his  soul." 

"  Not  very  far  either,"  replied  the  Count ; 
"within  a  mile  of  the  Abbey,  on  the  other 
side.  You  know  Franz  Creussen,  the  great 
blacksmith?  He'll  not  fear,  I  warrant.  Why 
look  you  so  surprised,  youth?" 

"  Because,  my  lord,  I  one  day  heard  you 
threaten  to  split  his  skull,"  said  Ferdinand, 
"  when  he  refused  to  shoe  your  horses ;  and 
certainly  he  never  showed  you  any  great 
reverence." 


EHRENSTEIN.  161 

"  It  would  take  a  sharp  sword  to  split  his 
skull,"  rejoined  the  Count.  "  A  thick-headed 
blockhead,  as  rude  and  as  hard  as  the  iron 
that  he  hammers,  but  if  he  answers  my  purpose 
that  is  all  I  heed.  He  that  doesn't  fear  me 
within  ten  miles  around,  is  not  likely  to  be 
easily  frightened — I  must  set  forth  in  half  an 
hour,  to  meet  my  noble  guest  by  the  way  ; 
and  as  I  go,  I'll  speak  to  the  man,  so  that  he 
shall  be  up  before  mid-day.  ]N"ow,  Adelaide, 
my  child,  go  with  your  girls  and  gather  the 
flowers  and  tender  branches,  so  that  you  may 
make  tlie  dull  old  hall  look  light  and  cheerful 
as  yourself,  for  there  will  we  all  sup  to-night, 
even  if  the  fiend  says,  Nay." 

Thus  saying,  he  left  her  standing  with  Fer- 
dinand. It  is  strange — it  is  very  strange,  that 
blindness  which  in  some  circumstances  comes 
over  the  most  clear-sighted  upon  the  questions 
in  which  they  feel  the  deepest  interest.  But  yet 
it  is  so  common — I  might  say,  so  invariable — 
that  let  no  one  think  it  unnatural  the  Count  of 
Ehrenst^in  should  actually  throw  his  daughter 

VOL.    I.  M 


162  EHRENSTEIN. 

into  tlie  way  of  one  to  whom  lie  would  never 
have  consented  to  give  her.  It  was  perhaps 
because  he  thought  it  impossible  that  such 
presumptuous  love  could  enter  into  the  young 
man's  thoughts.  It  was  the  blindest  of  all 
passions — pride — that  dimmed  even  his  keen 
eyes ;  and  there  he  left  them  to  the  brief 
caress,  the  low  spoken  words  of  love,  the 
looks  far  more  eloquent.  They  both  said  they 
must  jjart  at  once,  yet  they  both  lingered ; 
they  both  thought  it  was  no  use  to  risk  aught 
by  staying  there  when  they  were  to  meet  again 
so  soon  in  the  old  hall,  yet  the  near  future 
could  not  win  them  from  the  sweet  present. 
They  both  knew  it  was  dangerous  to  be  seen 
in  close  companionship,  and  yet  the  hands 
met  and  the  thrilling  fingers  clasped  upon 
each  other.  Adelaide  would  fain  hear  what 
had  befallen  Ferdinand  in  the  old  hall;  and 
he  answered  by  telling  how  he  loved  htr. 
She  urged  him  to  go,  and  to  let  her  go,  and  he 
tried — oh,  vain  endeavour  ! — to  explain  to  her 
the  burning  thirst  of  a  young  lover's  heart  to 


EHRENSTEIN.  163 

be  near  her  he  loves.  He  told  her  that  one 
might  as  well  expect  the  parched  traveller 
over  the  Syrian  sands  to  forbear  the  well  as  to 
ask  him  to  quit  her  while  she  would  stay ;  and 
Adelaide  believed  it  without  difficulty.  They 
said  much  one  way  or  another,  and  yet  their 
conference  was  not  long ;  for  some  noise  upon 
the  staircase  scared  them,  and  with  a  fresh 
spring  of  joy  in  their  hearts  from  their  brief 
interview,  they  parted  for  the  time  and 
hurried  to  their  several  tasks  with  the  glad 
hope  of  meeting  soon  again. 


M  2 


164  EHRENSTEIN. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

Perdinand  was  busy  at  his  work  about  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  after  the  Count  of  Ehren- 
stein  had  ridden  forth  with  his  train.  The 
castle  was  left  even  more  empty  than  the 
day  before,  for  Sickendorf  and  his  party  had 
gone  with  their  lord,  and  none  of  the  feudal 
retainers  of  the  house  had  yet  arrived.  Some 
grooms  and  horse-boys  in  the  stables,  and 
eight  or  ten  men  on  the  walls,  or  in  the 
courts,  were  all  that  remained  behind,  besides 
the  young  gentleman  himself;  and  they  were 
not  at  all  disposed  to  aid  or  interrupt  him  by 
their  presence  in  a  place  which  they  all  viewed 
with  dread,  even  when  they  passed  it  at  a 
distance.     Many  were  their  comments,  indeed. 


EHRENSTEIN.  165 

upon  his  daring  ;  and  several  of  those  comments 
were  by  no  means  favourable  to  their  young 
lady's  lover,  for  while  some  of  the  men  won- 
dered how  Master  Ferdinand  was  getting  on, 
without  venturing  to  go  and  see,  others  went 
the  length  of  supposing  that  he  must  have 
either  some  amulet  from  the  Holy  Land, 
which  was  a  charm  against  spirits,  or  a  plain 
compact  with  the  evil  one,  which  gave  him  the 
command  over  them  for  a  time. 

In  the  mean  while,  Ferdinand  worked  away 
at  his  unaccustomed  occupation,  perhaps  not 
quite  so  dexterously  as  if  he  had  been  an 
armourer's  man,  or  a  groom  of  the  chambers 
to  some  great  lord;  but  he  did  it  cheerfully, 
and  without  aj^prehension  ;  for  the  gay  sun- 
beams shone  through  the  dim  casements  and 
chequered  the  old  mouldy  pavement  with  a 
brio:ht  fretwork  of  lio-ht  and  shade.  His 
heart,  too,  felt  very  summery,  for  there  was 
hope  within,  and  the  expectation  of  love. 
Everything  was  done  quickly,  too,  for  he 
fancied  that  he  might  not  be  long  without  the 


166  EHRENSTEIN. 

presence  of  one  lie  loved,  and  thought  that 
every  moment  thus  busily  employed  might 
well  purchase  one  of  sweeter  occupation. 

His  first  task  was  to  raise  the  different  suits 
of  armour  from  the  ground,  and  fix  them  in 
their  places  again.  Nor  was  this  an  easy 
undertaking,  for,  in  many  cases,  the  thongs 
and  buckles  had  given  way  in  the  fall,  and  the 
several  pieces  were  scattered  about,  and  had  to 
be  re-united.  Nevertheless,  he  worked  on 
zealously,  stooping  over  the  quaint  old  gar- 
ments of  steel,  lifting  their  ponderous  masses, 
and  ever  and  anon  casting  back  from  his  face 
the  thick,  glossy  curls  of  his  hair,  as  they  fell 
over  his  brow  and  eyes.  He  showed  no  signs 
of  fear,  notwithstanding  the  strange  sights 
which  he  had  seen  on  the  two  preceding  nights  ; 
he  never  started  at  the  sound  of  the  wind  ;  he 
never  turned  to  give  the  timid  glance  over  his 
shoulder  towards  the  door  leading  to  the  vaults ; 
but  more  than  once  he  looked  towards  the 
other  entrance  of  the  hall,  and  listened  for  any 
sound  from  the  vestibule.     At  length,   as  he 


EHRENSTEIN.  167 

was  raising  one  of  the  suits  of  harness,  where 
the  rusty  gauntlet  and  vantbrace  were  still 
stretched  out,  as  he  had  seen  them  on  his 
previous  visit,  some  white  spots  upon  the  steel, 
seemed  to  catch  his  eye,  and  to  awaken  a 
train  of  new  and  interesting  ideas,  for  he 
paused  in  his  work,  and  with  his  hand  to  his 
brow,  remained  in  deep  thought  for  several 
minutes,  with  a  smile  upon  his  lips. 

As  he  thus  stood,  the  sound  of  voices  speak- 
ing near  the  door  was  heard,  and  it  was 
gently  pushed  open,  while  the  well-known 
tones  of  Bertha  exclaimed,  —  "I  would  not 
go  in  for  Neustadt,  and  you  do  not  want 
me,  either,  dear  lady,  —  you  know  you  do 
not ;  but  I  '11  stay  here  and  watch  against 
any  ghosts  on  this  side.  I  '11  open  that  other 
door,  however,  and  have  more  light ;  for  sj)irits 
don't  like  the  daylight,  and  I  don't  like  the 
dark." 

"Well,  stay  there,  —  stay  there,  then," 
answered  Adelaide ;  "  I  can  carry  in  the 
wreaths  myself." 


168  EHRENSTEIN. 

Ere  she  concluded,  Ferdinand  was  by  her 
side,  and,  raising  up  the  flowers  and  young 
"branches  which  Bertha  and  her  mistress  had 
brought  thither,  he  carried  them  in  and  laid 
them  down  upon  the  pavement  of  the  hall. 
Bertha's  merry  eye  was  iirst  turned,  with  a 
somewhat  timid  and  apprehensive  glance, 
towards  the  interior  of  the  chamber,  and  then, 
with  a  meaning  smile,  to  Ferdinand's  coun- 
tenance. As  soon,  however,  as  the  lady  had 
followed  her  lover  in,  the  discreet  damsel 
closed  the  door,  murmuring  to  herself — "  Well, 
love  's  the  best  charm  against  evil  spirits,  after 
all!  Heighol — I  wish  I  had  somebody  to 
love!" 

By  this  time,  Ferdinand's  hand  clasped  that 
of  Adelaide ;  but  I  have  noticed  before  that  a 
strange  change  had  come  over  the  fair  girl 
since  their  meeting  on  the  preceding  da}^ ;  and 
that  change  was  more  apparent  now  than  ever. 
All  doubt,  all  timidity  seemed  to  be  banished. 
There  was  no  boldness,  it  is  true,  for  modest 
gentleness   seemed   an   inherent   part   of    her 


EHRENSTEIN.  169 

nature ;  but  the  fear,  the  anxiety,  the  hesitation 
of  unconfirmed  and  j^erilous  love,  no  longer 
had  any  influence  over  her.  When  Ferdi- 
nand's hand  clasped  hers,  she  laid  the  other 
upon  it,  gazing  in  his  eyes  with  a  warm  and 
affectionate  light  beaming  in  her  own,  and 
saying  with  a  thoughtful,  if  not  absent  air,  as 
if  the  question  she  put  was  as  much  to  her  own 
heart  as  to  him, — "  You  love  me,  dear  Ferdi- 
nand,— is  it  not  so  ?  And  you  will  ever  love 
me,  and  never  do  aught  to  grieve  me,  nor  let 
others  grieve  me,  if  you  can  help  it  ? " 

"  Can  you  doubt  it,  beloved  ? "  cried  Fer- 
dinand, drawing  her  to  him ;  "  is  not  my 
whole  heart  and  being  only  love  for  you  ?" 

"  'Na.j,  I  do  not  doubt  it,"  answered  Ade- 
laide ;  "  I  will  not  doubt  it. — Yet  I  have  heard 
tales  of  men  vowing  deep  vows,  and  breaking 
them;  of  their  looking  upon  woman,  and 
woman's  love,  but  as  a  flower  to  be  gathered 
and  cast  away :  but  I  will  not  believe  it.  No, 
no  ! — we  have  known  and  loved  in  childhood, 
and  we  will  love  still.     I  will  trust  you,  dear 


170  EHRENSTEIN. 

Ferdinand, — I  will  trust  you ;  only  promise 
me  that  if  tlie  time  should  ever  come 
when  deep  grief  and  pain  menaces  your 
Adelaide,  and  it  is  in  your  power,  by  any  act, 
to  avert  it,  you  will  do  so,  whatever  be  the 
consequences." 

"Can  you  suppose  I  would  hesitate?"  ex- 
claimed Ferdinand,  eagerly  ;  "  but  I  do  pro- 
mise, dear  one  ! — I  vow  by  all  I  hold  sacred, — 
by  all  that  is  dearest  to  me,  that  you  shall 
never  ask  me  aught  that  can  remove  a  grief 
from  you,  without  my  doing  it  at  once." 

"Thank  you, — thank  you,"  answered  Ade- 
laide, resting  her  face  upon  his  shoulder,  while 
he  kissed  her  soft  cheek ;  "  then  I  am  happy ! " 
— then  I  am  all  yours  !  I  have  longed  for 
this  moment  to  come,  Ferdinand,  for  I  wished 
to  say  all  that  might  be  said ;  and  to  tell  the 
truth,  it  was  for  this  opportunity  I  undertook 
so  readily  the  task  we  have  here  to  perform." 

"  And  are  you  really  not  afraid,  dear  Ade- 
laide 1 "  asked  her  lover.  "  For,  certainly, 
here  I  have  seen  fearful  sights,  though  I  think 


EHKEN  STEIN.  171 

it  must  be  a  demon,  indeed,  that  could  harm 
you.     Have  you  no  fears  ?" 

"  None,  none,  in  the  world,"  she  answered, 
gaily  ;  "  I  set  all  spirits  at  defiance,  Ferdinand, 
but  the  spirit  of  love ;  and  it  would  have 
needed  somewhat  more  than  imaginary  terrors 
to  keep  me  away  from  you  to-day,  when  we 
have  so  fair  an  opportunity  of  saying  all  that 
we  could  wish  to  each  other." 

"  Nay,  not  all,"  answered  Ferdinand ;  "  there 
is  no  day,  no  hour,  when  I  shall  not  have  some- 
thing more  to  say  to  you ;  if  it  be  but  to  tell 
you,  again  and  again,  how  I  love  you,  how 
I  thank  you. — But  there  may  be  more,  much 
more,  to  be  said,  dear  Adelaide  ;  there  may  be 
difiiculties,  dangers,  unforeseen  circumstances ; 
and  even  with  Bertha's  aid,  it  may  be  impossi- 
ble to  communicate  them  to  you  fully  and 
freely,  without  seeing  you  and  speaking  to  you 
myself." 

"Well,  then,  I  will  come  to  you,"  replied 
Adelaide,  with  a  beaming  smile,  as  if  to  banish 
all   his   apprehensions,    like    mist   before   the 


172  ^  EHRENSTEIN. 

sun  ;  "  or  if  not,  you  shall  come  to  me.  I  have  no 
hesitation,  I  have  no  doubt  now.  All  yesterday, 
after  we  parted,  I  was  full  of  gloomy  thoughts 
and  dark  apprehensions.  I  was  like  one  wan- 
dering by  night  in  a  wood,  and  losing  his  way,  to 
whichever  side  he  turns.  I  was  doubtful  of 
myself,  doubtful  of  you,  doubtful  of  the  past, 
doubtful  of  the  future ;  but  that  has  vanished 
away,  and  I  am  all  your  own." 

"  And  what  dispelled  it?"  asked  Ferdinand. 

"  One  word,"  answered  Adelaide ;  "  but  you 
must  not  question  me  farther.  I  say  I  will 
come  to  you,  or  you  shall  come  to  me,  at 
any  hour,  at  any  season  that  it  may  be  needful. 
— I  know  I  can  trust  you,"  she  continued, 
gazing  at  him  with  a  look  grave  and  yet  tender, 
and  then  raising  her  eyes  towards  the  sky,  "  I  do 
believe,  Ferdinand,  that  for  the  best  gift  under 
Heaven's  sun,  you  would  not  wrong  your  Ade- 
laide in  word,  or  thought,  or  deed,  and  it  is  that 
trust,  as  well  as  some  necessity,  that  makes  me 
promise  you  thus  boldly  to  find  means  of  seeing 
you  whenever  you  desire  it.     Should  there  be 


EHRENSTEIX.  ]  73 

danger  to  either  of  us,  but  especially  to  you,  let 
me  know  it  at  once.  Even  if  it  be  in  the  dead  of 
the  night,  I  should  not  be  frightened,  Ferdinand, 
if  I  saw  you  standing  beside  me, — ay,  in  the 
very  spu'it-walking  time,  when  all  mortal  eyes 
are  closed  in  sleep.  I  am  very  sure — quite 
sure,  that  you  would  not  come  without  some  real 
need,  that  no  light  motive  would  bring  you,  to 
my  risk  and  to  yours,  and  therefore  I  am  thus 
bold,  for  love  and  confidence  makes  me  so." 

"Thank  you,  thank  you,  Adelaide.  From 
my  very  heart  I  thank  you,"  replied  her  lover, 
"  not  alone  for  the  dear  privilege  you  grant 
me ;  but  from  the  trust  that  gives  birth  to  the 
grant.  You  but  judge  me  rightly,  dear  one. 
Your  fair  form,  beyond  all  mortal  beauty,  may 
well  charm  my  eyes ;  the  touch  of  that  dear 
hand,  of  that  dear  lip,  may  well  be  prized 
before  all  that  earth  can  give  ;  but  not  for  the 
joy  of  heaven,  my  love,  would  I  do  aught 
that  could  tarnish  the  bright  gem  within  that 
lovely  casket.  Your  very  confidence  is  a 
bond  upon   me,  far  stronger  than   your  own 


174  EHRENSTEIN. 

reserve  could  be ;  and  in  your  happiness,  if 
I  could  sow  one  regret,  I  should  curse  myself 
for  ever." 

"  But  why  should  regret  mingle  with  hap- 
piness ? "  asked  Adelaide,  half  gaily,  half 
thoughtfully ;  "  there  must  be  some  very 
wicked  and  some  very  discontented  people  in 
the  world,  to  make  it  so.  It  seems  to  me, 
Ferdinand,  that  God  has  provided  us  with  so 
many  pleasures  that  can  produce  no  regret, 
that  we  should  show  ourselves  unworthy  of 
his  bounty  did  we  seek  others.  Fields,  gar- 
dens, mountains,  forests,  streams,  these  flowers, 
the  singing  of  the  birds,  the  sunshine  and  the 
sky,  the  very  dream-like  clouds  and  their  soft 
showers,  the  changes  of  the  seasons,  music, 
thought, — calm,  tranquil  thought,  the  music 
of  the  mind — and  every  form  of  meditation, 
whether  it  be  upon  our  own  strange  nature  and 
mysterious  destiny,  or  on  God's  mercy  to  his 
creatures,  or  his  great  power  and  infinite 
wisdom — all  these,  ay  Ferdinand,  and  innocent 
love,  too,  are  surely  full  of  joy,  unsoiled  and 


EHRENSTEIN.  175 

imperishable.  They  are  like  the  notes  of  some 
tuneful  instrument,  each  sweet  in  itself,  but 
doubly  sweet  by  those  that  go  before,  and 
follow  and  mingle  with  it  in  the  harmony; 
and  infinite,  too,  in  change  and  in  variety. 
What  needs  man  more,  that  he  should  sully 
with  his  evil  what  God  made  pure  and  beau- 
tiful?" 

"  Ay,  dear  girl,  and  from  one  joy  you  have 
named,  all  others  receive  a  tenfold  brightness," 
answered  Ferdinand  ;  "  innocent  love  has  its 
own  light  to  add  to  all  the  rest." 

"  I  know  it,  Ferdinand  ;  I  feel  it,"  answered 
Adelaide,  "  and  I  scruj^le  not  to  tell  you  that  I 
do  ;  for  once  having  said  '  I  love,'  I  have  said 
all — though  I  one  time  thought  I  could  never 
bring  my  lips  to  utter  those  two  words." 

"  And  I  must  ask  no  questions,"  said  Ferdi- 
nand, "  for  your  thoughts  are  changed,  indeed, 
dear  one." 

"  None,  none ;"  answered  Adelaide,  with  a 
gay  laugh.  "  And  now  we  must  to  our  task, 
Ferdinand ;  for  if  they  come  and   find  it  un- 


176  EHRENSTEIN. 

performed,  tliey  may  inquire  in  tlieir  own 
thoughts,  how  we  have  loitered  so.  Aid  me 
to  hang  up  these  garlands,  and  to  fix  the 
green  branches  on  the  walls,  and  then  I  will 
go  and  seek  the  wreaths  that  Theresa  is  still 
weaving." 

He  did  as  she  desired  him,  moving  the  great 
chair  of  state  for  her  tiny  feet  to  climb  and 
hang  the  flowers  on  every  prominent  place 
that  would  hold  them  ;  and  often  he  mounted 
thither  too,  and  supported  her,  lest  she  should 
fall,  with  the  arm  cast  lightly  round  her  waist, 
and  the  hands,  as  they  came  in  contact, 
when  stretched  out  to  reach  the  projecting 
beam,  or  cast  the  garland  over  the  wood- 
work, often  clasped  together  with  the  gentle 
pressure  of  warm  love ;  and  if,  from  time  to 
time,  they  paused  for  a  moment  or  two  to 
speak  of  the  things  of  their  own  hearts,  their 
pleasant  toil  was  resumed  the  instant  after, 
and  proceeded  the  more  quickly,  from  the 
happy  spirit  that  was  in  both. 

It  was  a  dream  of  love  and  joy,  and  the 


EHRENSTEIN.  177 

flowers  which  Adelaide  had  brought  were 
nearly  all  expended,  when  a  rough  voice  was 
heard  talking  to  Bertha,  Avithout,  and  Ferdi- 
nand sprang  down  lightly  from  the  chair,  and 
looked  towards  the  door.  It  opened  as  he  did 
so,  and  a  man  entered,  on  whose  appearance  I 
must  pause  for  a  moment,  as  we  may  see  more 
of  him  hereafter. 


VOL.    I. 


178  EHRENSTEIN. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

The  personage  who  broke  in  upon  tlie  con- 
versation of  Ferdinand  and  Adelaide  must 
have  been  at  least  six  or  eight  inches  above 
the  ordinary  height  of  the  human  race. 
ISTevertheless,  though  he  undoubtedly  looked 
a  very  tall  man,  and  those  who  stood  beside 
him  felt  themselves  like  pigmies,  yet  at  first 
sight  he  did  not  seem  so  tall  as  he  really  was. 
Unlike  most  of  those  persons  who  deviate 
from  the  common  standard,  either  above  or 
below,  there  was  no  disproportion  in  his  limbs, 
nor  want  of  symmetry — the  neck  was  not  long, 
like  that  of  a  crane,  the  form  was  not  spare 
and  meagre,  the  joints  were  not  large  and 
heavy,  the  knees  did  not  knock  together  as  he 


EHRENSTEIN.  179 

walked.  If  there  was  anything  out  of  pro- 
portion, it  was  that  the  chest  and  upper  part  of 
the  frame  were  even  too  broad  and  bulk}^ ;  and 
the  head  was  comparatively  small ;  but  it  was 
round  and  well-shaped,  with  a  capacious  fore- 
head, and  the  short  brown  hair  curling  round 
it  like  that  of  the  Farnesian  Hercules.  The 
features  of  the  face  were  good,  but  somewhat 
short,  and  the  expression  stern  and  bold. 
There  were  no  wrinkles  on  that  countenance, 
except  a  deep  furrow  between  the  eyes  ;  and 
yet,  by  those  indescribable  indications  which 
convinces  us  of  a  fact  without  our  well  know- 
ing why,  one  judged  in  a  moment  that  the 
man  who  entered  was  between  forty-five  and 
fifty  years  of  age,  though  everything  in  his 
whole  aspect  and  carriage  denoted  undimi- 
nished vigour  and  activity.  Here  and  there, 
indeed,  in  his  beard  and  hair,  might  be  traced 
a  single  white  line,  but  that  was  all  that  spoke 
the  passing  of  years. 

The  dress  of  this  worthy  personage  was  that 
of  a  handicraftsman  of  moderate  wealth.     His 

N  2 


180  EHRENSTEIN. 

coat  Avas  of  untanned  leather,  slashed  here  and 
there  upon  the  arms — as  was  the  custom  of 
the  times — and  he  vv^ore  before  hhn  a  great 
leathern  apron  blackened  and  soiled,  appa- 
rently with  the  labours  of  the  forge.  A  little 
vanity,  of  the  kind  which  the  French  call 
coquetry,  was  observable  in  the  covering  of  his 
head,  which  was  a  cap  or  bonnet  of  black  felt, 
bordered  with  a  lace  of  gold  ;  the  brim  was 
somewhat  broad,  slashed  in  the  forms  of  one 
of  the  Greek  mouldings,  and  turned  back 
towards  the  crown,  while  a  bunch  of  green 
feathers,  taken,  not  from  the  wing  of  the 
ostrich,  but  rather  from  that  of  some  more 
homely  bird,  stretched  across  the  front,  and 
leaned  towards  his  left  shoulder.  His  shoes,  or 
rather  half  boots,  for  they  came  up  to  his  ankle, 
were  long,  and  pointed  at  the  toe ;  and  under  one 
arm  he  carried  a  number  of  pieces  of  lead  and 
iron,  while  his  right  hand  was  armed  with  a 
sledge  hammer,  which,  wielded  by  him,  might 
have  brained  an  elephant. 

Behind  the  blacksmith  came  a  lad  (bearing 


EHRENSTEIN.  181 

a  basket,  full  of  various  utensils  of  his  trade), 
who,  in  any  other  situation,  would  have  ap- 
peared a  good-sized,  comely  youth,  but  who, 
by  his  side,  looked  a  mere  dwarf;  and  such 
was  the  effect  of  the  man's  appearance,  that 
Adelaide,  who  had  never  beheld  Franz  Creus- 
sen  before,  turned  somewhat  pale  at  the  sight, 
though  Ferdinand  welcomed  him  with  a  good- 
humoured  smile  of  recognition,  perhaps  a  little 
vexed  that  he  had  come  so  soon,  but  not 
attributing  any  blame  to  him  on  that  account. 

"  Ha,  ha.  Master  Ferdinand !"  cried  the 
giant,  as  soon  as  he  saw  him,  "  good-morning 
to  you,  sir,  I  thought  how  it  would  be — Why 
don't  you  help  the  lady  ?  She  can  never  get 
that  bunch  of  flowers  up  there  ;"  and  at  the 
same  time  striding  forward,  and  towering 
above  Adelaide  even  as  she  stood  raised  upon 
the  chair,  he  stretched  out  his  long,  powerful 
arm,  and  fixed  the  wreath  upon  the  spot  she 
could  not  reach. 

"  You  thought  how  what  would  be,  Franz  1 " 
asked  Ferdinand,  who  had  remarked  a  pecu- 


182  EHRENSTEIN. 

liar  tone  as  the  blacksmitli  spoke,  and  a  glance 
of  tlie  eye  from  himself  to  Adelaide. 

But  Franz  Creussen  did  not  answer  his 
question,  going  on  in  a  rambling  manner. 
"  So  there  are  ghosts  here,  the  Count  tells  me ; 
and  all  the  men  and  women  but  you  two  are 
afraid.  Let  the  ghosts  come  hither,  and  see  if 
I  will  not  split  their  skulls  with  my  hammer." 

"  Why,  Franz,  I  hardly  thought  you  would 
come,"  answered  Ferdinand  ;  "  I  heard  you 
once  tell  the  Count  you  would  neither  shoe  his 
horses,  nor  do  work  of  any  kind  for  him.  I 
am  glad  to  see  you  in  a  better  humour." 

"  I  would  not  have  come,"  answered  the 
blacksmith,  "  only  he  told  me  that  all  the 
people  were  afraid ;  and  as  I  never  yet  saw 
a  thing  to  be  afraid  of,  I  came  to  look  if  I 
could  find  it  here.  But  I  must  set  to  work, 
Master  Ferdinand. — God  help  us,  how  thou 
art  grown!  When  I  first  saw  thee,  thou 
wert  scarce  half  an  ell  high,  and  now  thou 
art  above  my  shoulder." 

Ferdinand  smiled,  for  though  he  was  cer- 


EHRENSTEIN.  183 

tainly  above  the  blacksmith's  shoulder,  he  was 
not  much  higher,  and  had  no  reason  to  believe 
he  would  ever  rise  above  the  height  he  had 
attained.  Franz  Creussen,  however,  turned 
abruptly  to  his  work,  and  with  the  aid  of 
his  boy,  soon  unhinged  the  latticed  part  of 
the  casement  nearest  the  door,  in  which  the 
largest  fractures  were  perceptible.  He  then 
proceeded  to  another  and  another,  while 
Ferdinand  continued  to  aid  the  fair  girl  in 
ornamenting  the  other  side  of  the  hall,  with 
somewhat  less  familiarity  of  demeanor;  but 
nevertheless  many  a  dear  whispered  word 
passed  between  them,  as  they  hung  the  gar- 
lands, or  shook  the  banners,  or  crowned  the 
war  crests  of  the  old  helmets  with  bunches 
of  flowers. 

At  length,  as  the  blacksmith  reached  the 
fourth  window,  Adelaide's  store  was  exhausted, 
and  she  said,  "  I  must  go  and  bring  more, 
Ferdinand;  Theresa,  I  dare  say,  has  twined 
plenty  of  wreaths  by  this  time ;  and  in  the 
mean  while,   if   you    could  drive   some   nails 


184  EHRENSTEIN. 

between  the  stone-work  of  the  arches,  we 
could  span  over  the  vault  with  green  branches, 
and  make  the  old  hall  look  like  a  forest 
bower." 

"  I  will  get  Franz  to  help  me,"  answered 
her  lover;  "his  arm,  I  should  think,  would 
drive  a  nail  into  the  heart  of  the  stone,  if 
it  were  needful." 

As  soon  as  she  was  gone,  however,  Franz 
handed  down  the  lattice  of  the  fourth  window 
to  his  apprentice,  saying,  "There,  carry  that 
to  the  little  court  by  the  stables — I  will  work 
there.  Then  come  for  the  others,  boy ;"  and 
as  the  youth  departed,  the  stout  man  leaned 
upon  his  hammer,  and  gazed  after  him  till 
the  door  was  closed. 

"  Come,  Franz,  help  me  to  drive  some  nails 
in  here,  to  hold  some  boughs,"  said  Ferdinand. 
But  Franz  Creussen  strode  up  to  him,  and 
grasping  him  tightly  by  the  shoulder  with 
his  heavy  hand,  he  said,  in  a  low  voice, 
bending  down  his  head,  "  Be  careful,  be 
careful,  young  man." 


EHRENSTEfN.  185 

"  Be  careful  of  what  V  asked  Ferdinand. 

"  Pooh !  nonsense,"  cried  Franz  Creussen, 
"  do  you  think  others  will  not  see  what  I  see  ? 
and  if  they  do,  you  may  chance  to  go  to  bed 
one  night,  shorter  by  the  head." 

Ferdinand  was  somewhat  puzzled  how  to 
answer.  It  was  a  case,  perhaps,  in  which 
insincerity  is  tolerated  by  all  the  lailes  of 
social  polity;  but  he  knew  the  man  who 
spoke  to  him  to  be  honest  and  true-hearted, 
and  one  who  had  always  displayed  towards 
him  a  peculiar  and  remarkable  degree  of 
kindness  and  regard  when  he  was  almost  at 
open  enmity  with  all  the  rest  of  the  Count  of 
Ehrenstein's  household.  After  a  moment's 
hesitation,  however,  he  answered,  "  I  know 
not  what  you  have  seen,  Franz,  to  make  ycai 
use  such  words ;  but  I  wish  you  would  speak 
more  plainly.  I  do  believe  you  love  me,  and 
woukl  do  all  you  can  to  serve  me." 

"  Ay,  more  than  you  know.  Master  Ferdi- 
nand," replied  the  blacksmith.  "  Speak  more 
plainly !     Why  I  have  spoken  plainly  enough. 


186  EHRENSTEIN. 

Who  is  it  makes  love  to  his  lord's  daughter, 
and  thinks  that  all  other  men  are  buzzards, 
and  can  only  see  by  candle-light?  I  knew  it 
would  be  so  long  ago,  and  told  Father  George 
so,  too,  when  he  first  put  you  here." 

"  But  if  Father  George  wishes  it,"  rejoined 
Ferdinand,  looking  up  in  his  face. 

"  Why  I  suppose  he  knows  best,  then," 
answered  the  man,  turning  on  his  heel,  "but 
it 's  a  dangerous  game.  A  neck 's  but  a  neck, 
and  that's  soon  cut  through. — But  he  knows 
more  than  I  do,  and  I  suppose  he  is  right ;" 
and  thus  saying,  he  searched  his  basket  for  a 
number  of  large  nails  that  it  contained,  and 
was  soon  busily  driving  them  in  between  the 
joints  of  the  stone-work,  without  adding  a 
word  more. 

In  a  minute  after,  his  boy  returned  to  take 
away  another  of  the  frames,  and  as  soon  as 
he  was  gone,  Franz  Creussen  turned  to  Fer- 
dinand again,  and  said,  "  I  '11  tell  you  what, 
young  gentleman ;  Father  George  knows  best, 
and  so  you  must  follow  his  counsel ;  but  these 


EHRENSTEIN.  187 

monks,  though  they  manage  all  the  world,  do 
not  always  manage  it  as  they  like  best ;  and 
if  this  matter  should  go  wrong,  and  you 
should  need  help,  you  will  always  know 
where  to  find  it,  as  long  as  Franz  Creussen 
lives.  In  any  time  of  need,  come  down  to 
me  if  you  can ;  and  if  you  can't  get  out, 
which  is  not  an  unlikely  case,  get  me  down 
word,  and  the  door  will  be  strong  indeed  that 
Franz  Creussen's  arm  cannot  open." 

"  Thank  you,  Franz,  thank  you,"  answered 
Ferdinand,  grasping  his  hand.  "  But  I  would 
not  have  you  peril  yourself  for  me.  I  must 
take  my  fate  as  I  find  it,  and  no  fears  for 
myself  will  stop  me." 

"That's  right,  that's  right,"  answered  Franz 
Creussen.  "  Life  would  not  be  worth  keeping 
if  it  always  wanted  watching.  But  I  don't  fear 
peril  either,  good  youth ;  and  I  can  do  more 
than  you  think,  for  there's  many  a  man  round 
about  would  follow  my  leathern  apron  as  soon 
as  a  knight's  banner  ;  I  can  ride  with  as  good 
a  train,  if  I  like  it,  as  any  baron  in  the  land. 


188  EHRENSTEIN. 

But  all  I  tell  you  is,  don't  you  wait  too  long. 
If  you  find  yourself  in  danger  come  to  Franz 
Creussen  in  time  —  the  good  Count  is  quick 
in  his  despatch ;  didn't  he  strangle  the  poor 
fellow  who  he  thought — or  said,  whether  he 
thought  it  or  not  —  had  stahbed  his  brother, 
within  twelve  hours  after  he  brought  home 
the  news  of  the  last  Count's  death  ?" 

"  Indeed  ! "  exclaimed  Ferdinand,  "  I  was 
not  aware  he  had  done  so." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  answered  the  blacksmith,  "  he 
did  it  sure  enough ;  you  may  see  his  bones, 
poor  fellow,  chained  to  the  pillar  against 
which  they  strangled  him,  down  in  the  serfs 
burial  vault — but  that  was  before  you  came 
here,  of  course,  so  you  can't  know  much 
of  it." 

"  I  was  aware  he  had  put  him  to  death," 
replied  Ferdinand,  "  but  did  not  know  he 
had  been  so  prompt  in  his  execution." 

"  He  was,  though,"  rejoined  the  blacksmith, 
"  and  for  that  reason,  be  you  prompt  too. 
If  you  see  signs  of  danger,  come  to  Franz 


EHRENSTEIN.  189 

Creussen  at  once — better  to  him  than  to  the 
Abbey,  for  though  the  monks  hold  then-  own 
well  enough  against  the  Count,  they  do  not 
like  to  meddle  in  other  people's  quarrels  ;  and 
it  is  likely  there  would  be  long  consultations, 
before  the  end  of  which,  the  Abbey  might  be 
stormed,  or  at  the  end  of  which  you  might  be 
given  up." 

"  As  he  spoke,  the  Lady  Adelaide  returned 
with  a  fresh  supply  of  garlands,  and  Franz 
Creussen  turned  away  to  drive  in  more  nails  on 
which  to  hang  the  branches ;  and,  at  the  end 
of  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  he  quitted  the 
hall,  saying  with  a  laugh, — "  I  '11  go  work  at 
the  casements,  in  the  court ;  I  am  better  there 
than  here;  and  you  shall  have  timely  notice 
when  the  Count  is  coming  up  the  hill." 

"  That  man  looked  very  strange,"  said  Ade- 
laide, "and  spoke  strangely  too.  Can  he 
suspect  anything,  Ferdinand  ?  He  frightened 
me." 

"  Oh,  do  not  fear  him,  dearest  girl ! "  replied 
her  lover  ;  "  he  is  honest  and  true,  if  ever  one 


190  EHRENSTEIN. 

was  SO,  and  has  a  great  love  for  me.  I  must 
not  conceal  from  you,  my  beloved,  that  he 
does  suspect,  and  has  been  warning  me,  if  any 
danger  should  arise,  to  fly  to  him  speedily,  or 
to  send  to  him  at  once,  if  I  should  be  im- 
prisoned. He  is  much  loved,  and  much  feared 
in  the  country  round,  and  might  give  good  and 
serviceable  aid  in  case  of  need." 

"  Heaven  forbid  that  it  should  ever  be 
required ! "  cried  Adelaide,  clasping  her  two 
hands  together,  and  gazing  sadly  down ;  but 
the  moment  after,  the  light  rose  in  her  eyes 
again,  and  she  looked  up  with  a  bright  smile, 
exclaiming, — "  I  am  doing  what  is  right,  and 
I  will  not  fear ;  but  we  must  be  careful,  dear 
Ferdinand ;  we  must  not,  for  the  mere  hap- 
piness of  the  moment,  call  suspicions  upon  us 
that  might  endanger  the  happiness  of  our 
lives.  Let  us  to  our  task — let  us  to  our  task, 
and  show  them,  when  they  return,  that  we 
have  been  right  busy  in  that  we  undertook." 

For  the  next  three  or  four  hours,  with  a 
brief  interruption   for  the  mid-day  meal,  the 


EHRENSTEIN.  191 

lady  and  lier  lover  continued  to  employ  them- 
selves in  decorating  the  old  hall;  and,  aided 
by  Franz  Creussen  and  his  lad,  contrived 
completely  to  change  the  appearance  of  the 
place.  Bertha,  too,  by  seeing  the  other  four 
continually  go  in  and  come  out,  by  hearing  the 
cheerful  sounds  of  their  voices  from  within, 
and  by  the  presence  of  so  many  persons  who 
seemed  to  have  no  fear,  was  at  length  encou- 
raged to  look  in,  and  then  to  speak  from  the 
door  to  her  mistress  at  the  other  end  of  the 
hall ;  and  lastly,  to  enter  herself,  and  assist  with 
her  own  hands. 

Everything  was  nearly  completed ;  but  a 
few  more  boughs  were  required  to  be  added  to 
form  a  sort  of  canopy  over  the  chair  of  state, 
and  to  bring  in  the  tables  from  the  other  halls, 
when  the  distant  sound  of  a  trumpet  was 
heard,  and  Franz  Creussen's  boy  learned  from 
the  feudal  retainers,  who  had  by  this  time 
assembled  in  considerable  numbers,  that  a 
large  body  of  horsemen  was  coming  over  the 
opposite    hill.      Adelaide    hastened    away   to 


192  EHRENSTEIN. 

prepare  herself  for  tlie  reception  of  lier  father's 
guests ;  but  Ferdinand  remained  for  a  few 
minutes  longer,  to  finish,  with  hurried  hands, 
all  that  remained  to  be  done,  and  then  left  the 
hall  with  Franz  Creussen,  who  declared  that 
he  would  now  hasten  home,  adding,  in  a 
surly  tone, — "  I  will  not  stay  to  see  them  revel 
who  have  no  right  to  be  here." 

At  the  door,  however,  Ferdinand  turned  to 
look  back,  and  mark  the  general  effect  which  had 
been  produced  by  the  labours  of  the  day.  A 
pleasant,  though  a  somewhat  strangely  mingled 
sight  it  was,  and  certainly  the  change  which 
had  been  produced  was  very  great.  The  old 
arches,  with  their  fretted  roofs  above,  the  grey 
stone-work,  from  which  the  hue  of  age  and 
disuse  could  not  be  removed,  contrasted  curi- 
ously with  the  gay  garlands  of  bright  summer 
flowers  that  crowned  the  chapters  of  the  pil- 
lars, and  hung  in  wavy  lines  along  the  walls. 
The  green  boughs,  too,  with  their  regular 
irregularity,  forming  a  vault  as  it  were  within 
the  vault,  crossed  in  different  directions  by  the 


EHRENSTEIN.  193 

banners,  now  shaken  clear  of  the  dust  which 
had  long  covered  them,  and  the  rushes  with 
which  the  floor  was  thickly  strewn,  gave  the 
old  hall,  as  Adelaide  had  said,  the  appearance 
of  a  forest  glade,  dressed  out  with  flags  for 
some  chivalrous  holiday;  and  as  he  stood  and 
looked  around,  strange  dreamy  visions  crossed 
his  mind,  such  as  could  present  themselves 
only  to  fancy  in  a  chivalrous  age.  Thoughts 
of  wild  and  strange  adventure,  of  renown  in 
arms,  of  generous  deeds  and  noble  daring,  of 
befriending  the  poor  and  needy,  of  suj^porting 
the  weak  and  oppressed,  of  overthrowing  the 
wrong-doer  and  delivering  the  wronged,  mixed 
in  strange  confusion  with  sylvan  sports  and 
forest  glades,  and  calm  hours  sj^ent  by  castle 
hearths  between.  But  in  every  scene,  with 
every  picture,  came  one  fair,  dear  form ; 
wherever  fancy  placed  him,  the  bright  soft 
eyes  looked  at  him,  the  sweet  lips  smiled  his 
reward.  She  whom  he  loved  was  the  soul  of 
all  his  imaginings,  and  he  felt  how  truly  it  was 
that  innocent  love  gave  its  own  sunshine  to 
VOL.   I.  O 


194  EHRENSTEIN. 

everything  around.  Even  the  hall  he  had  just 
teen  decorating  lost  its  light  when  she  was 
gone,  the  old  walls  grew  cold  and  damp,  the 
flowers  seemed  not  half  so  fair,  the  boughs 
appeared  to  droop  more  languidly.  It  all 
looked  but  half  as  gay  as  when  Adelaide  was 
there,  and  yet  he  saw  not  what  could  have 
been  done  better.  Nevertheless,  a  great  change 
had  been  effected ;  and  when  he  compared  the 
hall  with  what  it  had  been,  before  he  and 
Adelaide  had  undertaken  its  arrangement,  he 
felt  sure  that  his  lord  would  think  that  they 
had  laboured  well  during  his  absence,  and 
though  but  half-contented  with  his  work, 
hastened  to  his  chamber  to  remove  the  dust 
from  his  face  and  hands,  and  don  his  festival 
attire. 


EHRENSTEIN. 


195 


CHAPTER    X. 

A  BODY  of  about  some  sixty  armed  vassals 
of  the  house  of  Ehrenstein,  was  drawn  up  in 
the  outer  court  of  the  castle.  They  were  under 
different  subordinate  leaders,  for  by  the  sub- 
division of  land,  in  descending  from  one  gene- 
ration to  another,  the  exact  number  which 
had  been  originally  assigned  by  tenure  to 
different  portions  of  the  signory,  had  become 
somewhat  confused,  and  also  difficult  to  com- 
pute; for  many  small  properties  were  now 
only  bound  to  send  half  a  man,  and  others  one, 
two,  or  three  and  a  half.  As  it  was  not  so 
easy  to  divide  a  man  as  it  had  been  found  to 
divide  the  ground  that  nourished  him,  each  lit- 
tle community  was  usually  called  upon  to  send 

o  2 


196  EHRENSTEIN. 

its  aggregate  number  of  soldiers,  with  whom 
was  a  chief  appointed  to  command  them  under 
the  lord  of  Ehrenstein,  or  one  of  his  officers. 

As  Ferdinand  of  Altenburg  was  the  only- 
person  of  note  in  the  household  of  the  Count, 
who  now  remained  in  the  castle,  the  villagers 
were,  of  course,  under  his  guidance,  and  he 
endeavoured  to  array  them  in  such  a  sort  as 
to  make  the  greatest  possible  display  of  force 
on  the  entrance  of  the  lord  of  the  castle  with 
his  guests.  The  outer  gates,  however,  were 
closed  by  his  orders,  although  some  of  the 
retainers  thought  it  not  a  little  strange  that 
the  young  gentleman  should  shut  the  doors 
upon  the  Count  himself.  But  Ferdinand 
knew  well  his  task,  and  after  directing  a 
banner  to  be  displayed  upon  the  walls,  he 
approached  the  gates,  and  waited  with  some 
impatience,  listening  for  the  sounds  from 
without. 

At  length  the  shrill  blast  of  a  trumpet  upon 
the  bridge,  within  a  few  yards  of  the  spot 
where  he  stood,  showed  him  that  the  Count 


EHRENSTEIN.  197 

was  near ;  and  opening  the  wicket,  he  de- 
manded— "  Who  seeks  to  enter  here  ?" 

The  trumpeter  replied  in  the  same  tone — 
"The  Count  of  Ehrenstein.  Open  the  gaties 
to  your  lord!"  And  the  young  gentleman 
instantly  commanded  them  to  be  flung  back, 
that  the  cavalcade  might  enter. 

It  consisted  of  some  sixty  or  seventy  men, 
with  a  number  of  baggage  horses  following  in 
the  rear.  At  the  head  of  the  first  and  principal 
group,  appeared  the  Count  himself,  in  the  gar- 
ments of  peace,  while  on  his  left  rode  a  fine- 
looking  man,  somewhat  past  the  middle  age, 
partially  armed.  His  head  was  only  covered 
with  an  ordinary  velvet  cap  and  plume,  how- 
ever, so  that  Ferdinand  had  a  full  opportunity 
of  gazing  at  his  features,  and  he  did  so  with 
a  degree  of  interest  for  which  he  knew  no 
cause.  He  had  heard  of  Count  Frederick  of 
Leiningen,  indeed,  as  a  gallant  and  skilful 
soldier,  and  a  frank-hearted  and  amiable 
man.  But  he  had  seen  many  such  without 
feeling  the  same  sort  of  curiosity  which  he  now 


198  *  EHRENSTEIN. 

experienced.  The  Count's  face  was  one 
that  well  expressed  his  character;  blithe  and 
good  humoured,  though  with  a  high,  thought- 
ful brow,  while  two  or  three  scars  upon  his 
lip  and  cheek,  showed  that  he  had  not 
acquired  the  glory  of  arms  without  tasting  the 
perils  and  the  pangs  of  y^ar.  His  hair,  nearly 
white,  falling  from  beneath  his  cap,  would 
have  seemed  to  show  a  more  advanced  period 
of  life  than  the  Count  of  Ehrenstein  had 
attained ;  but  on  the  other  hand,  the  guest 
was  more  upright  and  stately  in  person  than 
his  host,  and  rode  his  horse  with  a  more 
martial  air.  Behind  those  two  appeared  old 
Sickendorf  and  Karl  of  Mosbach,  with  several 
knights  of  Count  Frederick's  train ;  and  the 
first  group  was  closed  by  a  party  which  would 
have  appeared  very  strange,  and  in  most 
unnatural  companionship  to  our  eyes,  though 
in  those  times  it  was  of  every  day  occurrence. 
On  the  right  was  a  priest,  in  his  ordinary 
riding  apparel,  bearing  a  dry  branch  of  the 
Oriental   palm  in  his  hand ;  and  on  the  left 


EHRENSTEIN.  199 

rode  a  tall,  powerful  personage,  whose  motley 
garb,  and  sort  of  Phrygian  bonnet,  surmounted 
by  a  bell  instead  of  a  tassel,  spoke  him  the 
jester  of  the  high  nobleman  whom  he  followed. 
He,  also,  was  past  the  middle  age,  and  his 
beard,  which  seemed  to  have  been  once  of  a 
rich  dark  brown,  was  now  thickly  mingled 
with  white  ;  his  eyebrows  were  quite  blanched, 
but  his  eye  was  keen  and  quick,  and  his  teeth 
white  and  perfect.  The  powerful  horse  that 
he  bestrode,  he  managed  with  ease,  and  even 
grace ;  and  as  he  came  forward,  he  sent  a 
rapid  and  marking  glance  over  every  tower 
and  battlement  of  the  castle,  and  round  all 
the  retainers  of  the  house  of  Ehrenstein, 
scrutinizing  each  face,  and  then  passing  on. 
Behind  these  two,  and  mounted  upon  a  horse  as 
tall  as  those  that  went  before,  was  a  dwarf, 
excessively  diminutive  in  size,  and  hideous  in 
feature,  form,  and  complexion  ;  he  v/as  decked 
out  in  all  the  gayest  colours  that  could  be 
found,  which  seemed  to  render  his  deformity 
but  the  more  apparent,  and  his  small  black 


?00  EHREN  STEIN. 

eyes  twinkled  from  beneath  his  bent  brows, 
with  a  dark,  malicious  expression,  as  if  in  that 
small  frame  there  were  a  vast  store  of  hatred 
for  all  human  things  more  favoured  by  nature 
than  himself.  Some  pages  in  attendance,  of 
good  birth,  followed,  and  then  the  men  at 
arms. 

Just  beyond  the  arch  of  the  gateway  stood 
the  Lady  Adelaide,  with  her  women,  looking 
more  lovely — at  least  in  the  eyes  of  Ferdinand 
of  Altenburg — than  she  had  ever  done  before; 
the  colour  of  her  cheek  heightened,  and  the 
light  in  her  eye  which  can  only  be  given  by 
love.  As  soon  as  Count  Frederick  saw  her, 
he  spoke  a  few  words  to  her  father  in  a  low 
voice;  the  Lord  of  Ehrenstein  bowed  his 
head,  and  his  guest  instantly  sprang  to  the 
ground,  and  advancing  gracefully  to  the  lady, 
took  her  hand,  and  pressed  his  lips  upon  it. 
The  rest  of  the  party  also  dismounted,  and 
Count  Frederick,  still  holding  Adelaide  by 
the  hand,  and  gazing  upon  her  with  a  look 
of  admiration    and  interest,  was   led   to   the 


EHRENSTEIN.  201 

lesser  hall,  where  her  father,  apologizing  for 
being  absent  a  moment,  left  him  to  the  enter- 
tainment of  the  fair  lady  for  a  time,  and 
hurrying  back  into  the  court,  called  Ferdinand 
to  him. 

"Is  all  prepared  in  the  hall?"  he  asked, 
with  a  low  voice. 

"  Yes,  my  good  lord,"  replied  the  young 
man.  "  But  I  pray  you  do  not  go  to  see  it 
yet,  till  it  be  lighted  up.  The  evening  is 
beginning  to  fall,  and  at  supper-time  it  will 
show  as  you  could  wish  it.  So  sweetly  has 
Lady  Adelaide  decked  it  all,  it  seems  as  if 
she  were  born  a  queen  of  flowers,  and  that 
they  do  her  bidding  willingly." 

The  Count  smiled,  but  went  on  to  say, 
"  Then  you  had  nothing  to  interrupt  you — 
none  of  these  strange  sights  again?" 

"  None,  none,  my  lord,"  answered  Ferdi- 
nand. "  The  only  strange  sight  that  visited 
us  during  the  day,  was  that  giant  Franz 
Creussen  ;  but  he  did  us  good  service,  helped 
to  reach  up  where  we   could  not  stretch  our 


202  EHRENSTEIN. 

arms,  and  in  the  labouring  part  did  more 
than  any  one.  He  was  only  just  gone  when 
you  arrived." 

"  He  passed  us  on  the  road,  without  a 
word,"  replied  the  Count ;  "neither  doffed  his 
bonnet,  nor  made  any  sign  of  reverence.  The 
time  may  come  for  a  reckoning  between  me 
and  good  Franz  Creussen,  when  we  shall 
know  whether  the  noble  is  to  be  bearded  by 
a  serf." 

"  I  believe  he  means  no  harm,  my  lord 
Count,"  replied  Ferdinand,  warmly,  but  re- 
spectfully :  "  he  has  borne  arms,  I  have  heard, 
and  is  somewhat  rough  in  manners;  but  all 
the  country  people  speak  well  of  him,  and 
men  say  he  is  no  serf,  but  of  good  blood." 

"  His  trade  is  a  churl's,  at  all  events," 
replied  the  Count,  frowning,  "and  the  trade 
makes  the  man,  youth. — I  know  right  well 
he  has  borne  arms — 'tis  that  renders  him 
insolent.  The  day  will  come,  however — the 
day  will  come. — All  men  speak  well  of  him, 
eh?     Did  you  ever  know  any  one  of  whom 


EHRENSTEIN.  203 

all  men  spoke  well,  who  was  not  a  cunning 
knave,  skilful  in  taking  advantage  of  tlie 
follies  of  others  for  their  own  purposes  ?  The 
man  whom  the  rabble  curse,  is  often  their  best 
friend;  the  fawning  sycophant  who  panders 
to  their  caprices,  uses  them  but  as  means,  to 
cast  them  off  when  he  has  done  with  them." 

Ferdinand  could  have  well  replied,  that 
Franz  Creussen  was  not  one  to  fawn  on  any 
man;  but  he  saw  that  his  lord  was  in  no 
mood  to  hear  truth,  and  after  giving  a  mo- 
ment to  gloomy  thought,  the  Count  repeated 
his  question.     "  So  all  passed  quietly  V 

"  So  peacefully  and  lightly,  my  good  lord," 
answered  Ferdinand,  "  that  standing  there  in 
the  broad  sunshine  of  the  day,  I  could  hardly 
believe  that  my  eyes  had  not  played  me  the 
knave  last  night,  and  cheated  me  with  idle 
visions." 

"  Perhaps  it  was  so,"  said  the  Count,  "  and 
yet  that  banner — that  was  no  vision,  Ferdi- 
nand. However,  we  must  forget  such  things, 
and  you  must  choose  out  twenty  of  the  men 


204 


EHRENSTEIN. 


to  be  with  us  in  the  hall  to-night.  Lay  my 
commands  strictly  on  them  to  show  no  signs 
of  fear,  and  forbid  all  the  rest  even  to  whisper 
one  word  of  these  vain  tales  to  any  of  the 
guests.  I  have  spoken  with  Sickendorf  and 
Mosbach,  already  ;  but  I  trust  more  to  you, 
Ferdinand,  for  they  have  doubts  and  fears 
that  you  are  without.  Neither,  to  say  the 
truth,  are  they  very  courteous.  Here,  Sicken- 
dorf has  been  brawling  already  with  one  of 
Count  Frederick's  chief  followers.  You  must 
try  and  keep  peace  and  quietness,  and  see 
that  hospitable  courtesy  be  shown  to  all.*' 

"  I  cannot  meddle  with  Sickendorf  and 
Mosbach,  my  lord,"  answered  Ferdinand, 
"  for  they  are  knights,  and  I  am  none,  and 
moreover,  are  my  elders ;  but  all  the  rest  I 
can  easily  command,  partly  by  love,  and  partly 
by  authority,  if  you  will  delegate  some  power 
to  me  to  rule  them  as  I  think  best,  when  you 
are  not  present." 

"  I  will,  I  will,  good  youth,"  replied  the 
Count ;  "  at  supper-time  I  will  do  it  publicly, 


EHRENSTEIN.  205 

with  thanks  for  what  you  have  ah-eady  done. 
You  shall  be  my  Master  of  the  Household 
for  the  time,  and  in  that  character  you  must 
show  every  kind  attention  not  only  to  Count 
Frederick  himself,  but  to  his  favorite  fol- 
lowers." 

"  There  is  sufficient  good  accommodation 
provided  for  his  knights,  my  lord,"  answered 
Ferdinand.  "  I  saw  to  that  before  I  went 
to  the  hall.  Everything  is  ready  for  seven, 
and  I  see  but  five." 

"  Good  faith !  there  are  others  whom  he 
cares  for  more  than  his  knights/'  answered 
the  Count.  "  There  is  the  priest,  ay,  and 
the  jester  too.  My  old  friend  seems  full  of 
strange  fantasies,  and  we  must  humour  them. 
This  fool  whom  he  has  with  him  saved  his 
life  in  the  Holy  Land,  it  seems ;  and  though 
he  is  at  times  somewhat  insolent,  even  to  his 
lord — as  all  such  knavish  fools  are — not  only 
does  he  bear  with  him  patiently,  but  ever 
keeping  in  mind  this  one  service,  sets  him 
at  table  with  his  knights,  and  listens  to  him 


206  EHRENSTEIN. 

like  an  oracle.  He  and  the  priest  must  sit 
■vyith  us  ;  and  we  may  draw  diversion  from 
tlie  one  if  not  from  the  other.  Be  sure  that 
you  are  civil  to  him,  my  good  youth,  for 
Count  Frederick's  friendship  may  stand  me 
in  good  stead.  Then  there's  a  youth — there  he 
stands,  talking  to  Mosbach — a  down-looking 
quick-eyed  lad,  who  seems  a  favorite  too." 

"What  is  his  name,  my  lord?"  asked 
Perdinand,  turning  his  eyes  in  the  direction 
of  the  group  of  which  the  Count  spoke. 

"  Martin  of  Dillberg,"  said  his  lord.  "  He 
is  a  gentleman  by  birth,  it  seems,  but  of  no 
very  high  nobility.  Not  like  the  Altenburgs," 
he  continued,  with  a  smile  and  a  flattering 
tone,  "whose  very  blood  is  wealth.  So  now 
go,  Ferdinand,  and  see  that  all  be  arranged 
as  I  have  said,  for  I  must  hie  me  back  again, 
and  lead  this  good  lord  to  his  apartments. 
You  do  the  same  for  the  others ;  and  let  the 
trumpet  sound  some  minutes  before  supper, 
that  we  may  all  be  gathered  in  the  other 
hall." 


I 


EHRENSTEIN.  207 

Thus  saying,  he  left  him  ;  but  in  the  mean 
while  some  words  of  interest  had  passed 
between  Adelaide  and  Count  Frederick,  who 
had  remained  with  her  near  one  of  the 
windows,  while  the  few  attendants  who  had 
followed  them  were  grouped  together  talking 
at  the  other  end  of  the  chamber. 

He  had  gazed  at  her  earnestly,  but  not 
offensively,  wlien  they  first  met,  just  within 
the  castle  gates.  It  was  a  look  of  kind 
almost  paternal  tenderness  with  which  he 
appeared  to  interrogate  her  fair  face.  It 
seemed  to  say,  Are  you  as  good  as  you  are 
beautiful,  as  happy  as  you  are  bright,  sweet 
child  ?  and  twice,  as  he  led  her  to  the  hall, 
he  turned  his  head  to  look  at  her  with  the 
same  expression ;  but  as  soon  as  they  had 
entered,  he  said,  turning  towards  the  case- 
ment, "  I  feel  as  if  we  were  old  acquaint- 
ances, my  dear  young  lady ;  so  you  must 
not  think  it  strange  that  I  treat  you  as  one. 
I  have  known  your  father  long  and  well — 
since  we  were   boys  together;    and  I   knew 


208  EHRENSTEIN. 

your  uncle  better  still — a  noble  and  high- 
minded  man  he  was,  as  sportful  as  a  child. 
and  yet  with  the  courage  of  a  warrior,  and 
the  conduct  of  a  sage — and  I  cannot  help 
looking  upon  you  almost  as  a  daughter. 
Thus,  if  I  do  so  sometimes,  and  seem  more 
familiar,  and  more  concerned  about  your  hap- 
piness than  our  young  acquaintance  might 
warrant,  you  will  forgive  me." 

*'  Kindness  needs  no  forgiveness,  my  noble 
lord,"  replied  Adelaide,  thinking  she  remark- 
ed something  peculiar  in  the  Prince's  tone, 
she  knew  not  well  what. 

"  Yes,  for  it  may  sometimes  seem  imper- 
tinent," answered  Count  Frederick.  "  But 
methinks,  my  child,  if  I  can  read  the  clear 
book  of  your  eyes  aright,  you  are  one  who 
can  see  very  speedily  what  are  the  motives  of 
words  or  actions,  which  to  some  might  seem 
strange.  I  am  preparing  you  for  the  demeanor 
of  an  odd  old  man — but  I  think  I  have  said 
enough." 

"I  do  not  know,  my  lord,"  said  Adelaide, 


EHRENSTEIN.  209 

casting  down  lier  eyes,  in  some  doubt  and 
confusion,  "  enough  to  awaken  curiosity,  but 
not  to  satisfy  it." 

"  Perhaps  not  enough  to  win  confidence," 
replied  Count  Frederick,  "yet,  as  I  never 
knew  that  it  could  be  gained  by  words,  I 
must  leave  deeds  to  speak  for  me,  and  will 
only  tell  you  more,  that  I  have  seen  and 
conversed  with  a  dear  friend  of  yours,  and 
that  if  you  should  need,  at  any  time,  aid  and 
protection,  you  will  have  it  from  Frederick  of 
Leiningen." 

"A  friend  of  mine?"  said  Adelaide,  in 
surprise. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  replied  her  companion,  "and 
a  good  friend  too,  who  told  me  that  a  time 
was  coming  when  you  might  need  support; 
and  I  promised  to  give  it.  But  I  must  hear 
more  myself  before  I  can  speak  farther.  In 
the  mean  time,  keep  what  I  have  said  to 
your  own  bosom,  but  trust  me  as  far  as  you 
will,  when  you  have  need. — What  is  it  now, 
Herr  von  Narren  1 "  he  continued,  as  his  jester 

VOL.    I.  p 


^10  EHEENSTEIN. 

approached    him.      "What    is    it    that    you 
want?" 

"What  do  I  want?"  said  the  man  in 
motley,  "  Good  faith !  uncle  Frederick,  my 
answer,  to  be  pertinent,  must  be  as  long  as 
a  dictionary.  First,  I  want  lands  and  lord- 
ships, and  a  purse  well  stored ;  then,  I  want 
wit — at  least,  so  men  tell  me;  and  I  myself 
judge  that  I  want  a  pretty  wife.  Sure,  I 
ought  to  have  one  or  the  other,  though  both 
cannot  go  together,  for  a  pretty  wife  takes 
away  a  man's  wit,  and  a  man  who  has  wit 
has  not  a  pretty  wife ;  then  I  want  boots  of 
untanned  leather  broidered  with  gold,  and  a 
well-darned  doublet,  which  the  air  of  heaven 
knoweth  right  well  I  have  not  got.  Give 
you  good  luck,  fair  lady ;  are  you  the  daughter 
of  this  castle?" 

"  I  am  the  daughter  of  its  lord,"  replied 
Adelaide,  with  a  smile. 

"  Then  you  are  the  daughter  of  the  castle," 
answered  the  jester,  "  and  its  only  begotten 
child!" 


EHRENSTEIN.  211 

"  How  do  you  prove  that,  Herr  von 
Narren?"  asked  Count  Frederick,  seeming 
to  enjoy  very  much  the  man's  dull  jokes. 

"  Now  cogitate,"  replied  the  jester.  "  Is 
not  the  castle  made  of  stone  ? — all  lord's  hearts 
are  made  of  stone,  too.  He  is  the  lord  of  the 
castle,  and  if  she  is  the  daughter  of  his  heart, 
she  is  the  daughter  of  a  stone ;  the  castle  is 
made  of  stone,  ergo,  she  is  the  daughter  of  the 
castle." 

"It  halts!— it  halts!"  cried  Count  Fre- 
derick ;  "  your  argument  is  lame  of  one  foot ! " 

"  My  father's  heart  has  never  been  of  stone 
to  me,"  replied  Adelaide,  gently. 

"  Perhaps  you  never  cut  it,  or  you  would 
have  found  it  so,  pretty  blossom,"  said  the 
jester,  more  gravely  than  was  his  wont ;  and 
then  turning  to  Count  Frederick,  he  was 
about  to  continue  in  his  usual  strain,  when 
their  host  entered,  and  in  courteous  terms,  and 
with  the  ceremonious  manners  of  the  day, 
besought   his   noble   guest    to  follow   him   to 

p  2 


212  EHRENSTEIN. 

the  apartments  which  had  been  prepared  for 
him. 

Adelaide  remained  some  minutes  behind. 
I  will  not  attempt  to  explain  why  ;  for  ladies' 
thoughts  and  motives  form  a  difficult  book  to 
read.  It  was  certainly  likely  that  Ferdinand 
of  Altenburg  would  speedily  return  to  the 
hall;  and  perhaps  she  might  not  be  unwilling 
to  see  him  again  for  a  few  minutes ;  or  perhaps 
she  might  feel  time  hang  heavy  on  her  hands, 
as  it  often  did  in  those  old  castles,  and  she  be 
well  disposed  to  while  away  a  brief  space  in 
talking  even  with  a  jester.  Let  those  who  are 
wise  in  such  things,  judge.  At  all  events,  her 
conversation  went  on  with  Herr  von  Narren, 
as  Count  Frederick  called  him  ;  and  she  it 
was  who  renewed  it,  saying, — 

"  You  accompanied  Count  Frederick  from 
the  Holy  Land,  I  think?" 

"  No,  lady,  he  accompanied  me,"  answered 
the  jester ;  "  fools  always  lead  the  way,  you 
know,  and  wise  men  follow." 


EHRENSTEIN.  213 

"  But  there  was  nothing  foolish  in  coming 
back  to  your  native  country,"  said  Adelaide.- 

"If  it  was  wise  to  go,  as  all  men  said," 
replied  the  jester,  "  it  was  foolish  to  come 
back.  But  rats  will  put  their  heads  into  a 
trap,  and  then  strive  to  pull  them  out,  too 
late.  Is  your  ladyship  fond  of  strawberries 
and  cream?" 

''Not  extravagantly,"  answered  Adelaide, 

"  Then  God  give  you  such  wise  economy  in 
all  things !"  cried  the  jester.  "  Even  love 
may  surfeit,  if  we  take  too  much  of  it." 

From  some  internal  emotion,  the  blood  rose 
in  the  lady's  cheek,  whether  she  would  or 
not,  but  she  forced  herself  to  reply, — "  Nay,  I 
doubt  that,  sir;  'tis  when  we  love  unv/isely 
that  there  is  danger.  We  cannot  love  too  well 
when  we  love  wisely." 

"  Well  cannot  be  ill,  indeed,"  said  the  fool, 
with  a  sage  look,  "  so  says  Aristotle,  or  I 
mistake;  yet  I  have  heard  my  grandmother 
declare,  and  she  was  as  wise  as  the  old  Greek, 
that  all  sweet  things  will  surfeit.     Now  love 


214  EHRENSTEIN. 

is  a  sweet  thing  to  all  young  hearts ;  and  were 
I  a  boy  in  the  castle,  I  would  avoid  that 
pantry,  for  it  may  contain  dangerous  dainties." 

Adelaide  mused  for  a  moment,  asking  her- 
self whether  the  man,  indeed,  spoke  at  ran- 
dom ;  hut  when  he  saw  that  she  replied  not, 
he  went  on, — "  Beauty,  wisdom,  wit,  policy,  a 
soft  voice,  and  a  delicate  step — even  chalked 
soles  and  a  flat  heel — never  yet  kept  a  man 
from  stumbling,  if  he  ran  too  fast;  and  so, 
fair  lady,  as  you  are  the  daughter  of  the 
castle,  and  I  am  Count  Frederick's  fool,  we 
will  go  gently,  and  not  fall  in  love  with  each 
other,  lest  our  fortunes  should  be  made  a 
ballad  of." 

"  I  should  think  there  was  no  great  chance 
of  your  falling  in  love  with  me,  good  sir," 
answered  Adelaide  ;  "  't  is  a  danger  easily 
eschewed." 

"  Faith,  I  know  not  that,  if  you  look  out  of 
the  upper  windows  so  sweetly,"  replied  the 
jester,  pointing  towards  Adelaide's  eyes  ;  "  I 
am  more  in  love  already  than  I  ever  thought 


EHRENSTEIN.  215 

to  be  with  one  of  your  house.  If  young  hearts 
are  like  dry  wood,  why  should  not  old  ones 
be  tinder?" 

The  lady  was  saved  the  necessity  of  re- 
plying, by  her  father's  entrance ;  and  she  was 
not  disinclined  to  break  off  a  conversation 
which  had  become  embarrassing.  Retiring 
then  quickly,  she  sought  her  own  chamber, 
traversing  the  passages  and  corridors  now 
crowded  with  men  carrying  up  the  baggage 
which  had  been  brought  with  Count  Fre- 
derick's train. 


216  EHRENSTEIN. 


CHAPTER   XL 

The  crescets  and  sconces  were  lighted  in  the 
great  hall,  and  all  those  who  were  to  be  hon- 
oured with  a  seat  at  the  banquet  of  the  evening 
were  beginning  to  assemble  in  the  lesser  hall. 
On  this  occasion,  none  were  admitted  to  the  table 
of  their  lords  but  such  as  could  either  show  some 
claim  to  noble  blood,  or  were  distinguished  by- 
particular  favour.  Nevertheless,  the  guests 
were  very  numerous,  for  the  changes  which 
time  had  produced  in  the  strict  feudal  system, 
and  in  the  severity  of  the  ancient  chivalry, 
admitted  many  to  distinction  who  would 
formerly  have  been  excluded ;  and  every  man, 
not  absolutely  a  serf,  was  looked  upon  as 
noble,  and  entitled  to  bear  arms.     Priests  and 


EHRENSTEIN.  217 

friars,  whether  they  could  prove  their  ancestry 
or  not,  found  ready  admission  to  the  tables 
even  of  monarchs  ;  and  in  times  of  need  and 
danger,  when  it  was  necessary  to  court  popular 
support,  the  leaders  of  the  free  communes  were 
treated  with  every  sort  of  honour.  The  feu- 
dal system,  indeed,  at  this  time,  may  be  said 
to  have  been  completely  disorganised ;  and 
amongst  many  symptoms  of  the  total  over- 
throw which  was  approaching,  was  that  mix- 
ture of  classes,  and  the  reverence  for  a  great 
many  qualities,  some  of  them  much  superior 
to  mere  ancestry,  and  some  of  them  perhaps 
inferior.  However  that  may  be,  the  number  of 
those  who,  notwithstanding  all  customary  limit- 
ations, were  entitled  to  dine  with  the  Count 
of  Ehrenstein  and  his  princely  guest,  did  not 
amount  to  less  than  seventy ;  and  Adelaide, 
when  she  entered  the  lesser  hall  with  her  father, 
felt  her  heart  beat  somewhat  timidly  at  the  sight 
of  so  many  who  were  perfect  strangers  to  her. 

It  was  to   be   remarked   that   amongst  the 
various  groups  which  the  room  contained,  the 


218  EHRENSTEIN. 

attendants  of  the  lord  of  Ehrenstein  looked 
grave,  moody,  and  anxious,  while  those  of 
Count  Frederick  of  Leiningen,  not  aware  of 
any  cause  for  apprehension,  were  cheerful,  if 
not  merry.  Numbers,  however,  have  a  very 
encouraging  effect;  and  with  so  many  com- 
panions around  them,  old  Sickendorf  and 
Mosbach,  with  their  fellow-soldiers  of  the 
castle,  had  screwed  their  courage  to  the  sticking 
point,  and  were  prepared  to  face  the  ghosts  of 
the  old  hall  without  any  external  signs  of  fear. 
It  had  cost  some  trouble,  indeed,  to  get  the 
cooks  and  sewers  of  the  household  to  place 
the  viands  for  the  supper  on  the  tables,  but  the 
example  of  Ferdinand  and  Adelaide,  and  the 
knowledge  that  they,  with  Franz  Creussen  and 
his  boy,  had  passed  the  whole  morning  in  the 
hall  without  disturbance,  induced  them  rather 
to  risk  a  meeting  with  the  ghosts  than  to 
encounter  their  lord's  anger  ;  and  in  parties  of 
five  and  six,  they  had  at  length  ventured  in, 
heavily  laden  with  provisions. 

Their  terrors  had  caused  some  delay,  how- 


EHRENSTEIN.  219 

ever ;  and  it  was  not  till  the  Count  had  waited 
impatiently  for  near  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  that 
the  trumpets  were  heard  sounding  clear  and 
shrill  from  below.  After  a  few  moments  wasted, 
as  was  customary,  to  show  that  no  one  was 
in  haste,  Count  Frederick  offered  his  hand 
to  Adelaide,  and  led  her  to  the  door,  and  the 
whole  party  moved  forward  towards  the  ban-  ' 
quet  room. 

"  Let  the  others  go  first,  Mosbach,"  said 
Sickendorf,  in  a  low  tone ;  "  the  devil  may 
take  them  all,  if  he  likes,  so  that  he  leave  me 
enough  for  supper :  I  am  as  ravenous  as  a 
wolf!" 

"  So  am  I,"  answered  Mosbach ;  "  but  I 
would  rather  go  hungry  to  bed  than  sup  in 
that  dreary  old  hall,  with  the  ghastly  company 
we  are  likely  to  have." 

The  sight  that  met  their  eye,  however,  when 
they  approached  the  great  door,  was  one  that 
they  little  expected.  The  whole  hall  was  in  a 
blaze  of  light;  tapers  were  hung  thickly  on 
the  walls  and  in  the  arches,  showing  forth,  in 


220  EHRENSTEIN. 

fine  relief,  the  garlands  of  flowers  with  which 
Adelaide  had  decked  them,  and  the  branches 
of  evergreen  which  both  tapestried  and  cano- 
pied the  hall.  The  banners,  freed  from  the 
dust  of  many  years,  waved  gaily  over  head ; 
the  tables  groaned  with  well-cooked  viands, 
and  long  ranges  of  cups,  goblets,  and  tankards, 
in  gold  and  silver — for  the  Count  had  brought 
forth  all  his  stores  of  splendour — flashed  back 
the  rays  of  the  lights  around,  and  added  to  the 
rich  and  cheerful  aspect  of  the  whole. 

Count  Frederick  paused  for  an  instant,  ex- 
claiming,— "  Why,  this  is  a  scene  of  fairy 
land ! "  and  the  Count  of  Ehrenstein  himself 
gazed  round  with  wonder  and  pleasure  on  a 
sight  which  far  surpassed  his  previous  expecta- 
tions. He  made  no  observation,  however,  but 
moved  on  to  take  his  seat  in  the  great  chair,  in 
the  centre  of  the  cross  table,  and  several 
minutes  were  spent  in  arranging  the  guests 
according  to  their  rank  and  station.  Adelaide 
was  placed  upon  her  father's  left,  Count  Frede- 
rick on  his  right ;  the  priest  sat  next  the  lady, 


EHRENSTEIN.  221 

and  tlien  tlie  kniglits  around,  while  Ferdinand, 
in  a  courteous  tone,  assigned  tlie  jester  a  seat  at 
the  angle  of  the  two  tables,  so  that  he  could 
converse  with  his  lord  during  their  meal,  accord- 
ing to  custom,  w^ithout  being  actually  placed  at 
the  same  table.  This  arrangement  created 
much  surprise  amongst  the  followers  of  the 
house  of  Ehrenstein,  and  some  displeasure,  but 
the  attendants  of  Count  Frederick  seemed  to 
look  upon  it  as  a  matter  of  course. 

Ferdinand  himself  was  about  to  take  a  seat 
much  farther  down,  but,  as  he  moved  towards  it, 
the  Count  called  him  up,  saying, "  Here  is  room 
for  you,  Ferdinand.  Well  and  faithfully  have 
you  done  all  that  was  entrusted  to  you,  and 
neither  a  braver  heart  nor  a  better  head  have 
we  amongst  us.  I  name  you  the  Master  of  my 
Household  from  this  hour,  and  leave  my  good 
guests  to  your  care  and  courtesy  whenever  I  am 
not  present." 

"Well  may  he  make  him  master  of  his 
household,"  said  Sickendorf,  in  a  whisper, 
to    Mosbach,   "  for   he   seems    master    of  the 


222  EHRENSTEIN. 

spirits  as  well  as  the  bodies.  I  am  sure  with- 
out their  help  he  never  could  have  done  all 
this." 

"  He  had  Franz  Creussen  with  him,"  mum- 
bled Karl  of  Mosbach  ;  "  and  I  don't  see  why 
a  boy  like  that,  not  knighted  yet,  should  be  put 
over  our  heads." 

"  He 's  a  good  youth,  he  's  a  good  youth," 
answered  Sickendorf ;  "  and  may  well  have  an 
office  that  neither  you  nor  I  could  manage. 
We  are  over  his  head  in  arms,  and  that  is 
all  we  have  to  care  about." 

In  the  mean  while  Count  Frederick  had  put 
some  question  to  his  entertainer,  who  bowed 
his  head,  replying,  "  Yes,  the  same,  Ferdinand 
of  Altenburg,"  and  the  old  nobleman  instantly 
rose  up,  as  Ferdinand  advanced  with  some 
degree  of  diffidence,  and  took  him  in  his  arms, 
saying,  "  Ah !  good  youth,  I  am  right  glad  to 
see  you.  I  knew  your  father  well,  a  gallant 
gentleman  as  ever  drew  a  sword.  He  died  in 
foreign  lands,  many  long  years  ago.  We  must 
know  each  other  better,  my  son.    Here,  Philip 


EHRENSTEIN.  223 

of  Wernheim,  I  pray  you  for  this  night  make 
room  for  him  beside  me." 

"  Nay,  my  good  lord,"  said  Ferdinand ;  "  I 
beseech  you  excuse  me — I  must  not  displace  a 
noble  gentleman  so  much  older  and  better  than 
myself." 

"  There,  sit  you  down,  boy,"  cried  the  bluff 
old  soldier,  to  whom  the  Count  had  spoken, 
taking  him  by  the  shoulder  and  thrusting  him 
into  the  seat,  with  a  laugh,  "  It  matters  not 
where  a  man  sits.  If  he  have  honour,  he  will 
carry  his  honour  about  with  him ;  if  he  have 
none,  he  may  well  sit  low.  I  will  go  place  me 
by  my  old  friend,  the  Herr  Von  Narren,  and 
see  whether  his  sharp  wit  will  crack  my  hard 
skull." 

Thus  saying  he  moved  round,  and  took 
a  seat  at  the  other  side  of  the  cross  table,  saying 
to  the  jester,  in  a  low  tone,  as  he  sat  down, 
"  Why,  how  now,  you  seem  dull,  mein  Herr, 
cheer  up." 

The  jester  suddenly  raised  his  face,  and 
answered,  "  What  makes  a  cat  mew  and  a  lion 


224  EHRENSTEIN. 

roar — a  young  man  fierce  and  an  old  man 
dull? — Hunger,  hunger,  Sir  Philip  !  Heaven 
send  the  good  priest  a  weak  breath  and  a 
strong  appetite,  for  he  is  rising  to  bless  the 
meat,  I  see,  and  if  he  be  long  about  it,  like  the 
grace  of  many  another  man,  it  will  be  a  curse 
instead  of  a  blessing." 

The  priest,  however,  was  as  hungry  as  the 
rest,  and  his  words  quick  and  few.  The  meal 
began,  and  for  well  nigh  half  an  hour  it  passed 
nearly  in  silence,  but  then,  as  the  appetite 
was  assuaged,  and  wine  began  to  flow,  the 
tongue  was  allowed  time  to  act  as  well  as  the 
teeth ;  and  Count  Frederick  began  to  urge  the 
jester  to  speak,  though  the  latter,  either  from 
not  having  yet  satisfied  his  hunger,  or  perhaps 
from  weariness  with  long  travel,  seemed  little 
disposed  to  indulge  his  lord. 

"  Come,  come,  my  friend,"  cried  Count 
Frederick,  at  length ;  "  thou  art  playing  the 
silent  counsellor  to  night, — what  dost  thou 
cogitate?" 

"  Bitter  sweet,"  answered  the  jester.     "  Call 


EHRENSTEIN.  225 

you  me  counsellor,  uncle  1  I  would  give  you  all 
right  good  advice  and  sliarp,  if  you  would  but 
take  it — man,  woman,  and  child." 

"Let  us  hear,  let  us  hear,"  cried  Count 
Frederick;  "  then  will  we  judge  whether  it  be 
worth  the  taking.  Begin  with  the  lady,  cousin, 
as  in  duty  bound." 

"  Well,  then,  here 's  for  her  counsel,"  said 
the  jester,  laying  his  finger  on  his  brow: — 

THE  JESTER'S  ADVICE  TO  LADIES. 

"  Flaunt  not  your  beauty  in  the  common  eye, 

Lest,  like  hedge  flowers,  it  be  not  thought  worth  plucking. 
Trust  to  no  young  man's  tender  word  or  sigh. 

For  even  pigs  are  gentle  when  they  're  sucking. 

Judge  of  your  lover  by  his  deeds  to  others, 

For  to  yourself  he 's  ever  a  deceiver. 
Mark,  girls,  your  fathers'  conduct  to  your  mothers, 

And  each  be,  if  she  can  be,  a  believer." 

"  Good  counsel,  cousin !  good  counsel ! " 
cried  Count  Frederick,  "  but  now  for  another. 
What  say  you  to  the  young  men  ? " 

"  Good  faith !   uncle,  I  know  not  that  I  have 

VOL.    I.  Q 


226  EHRENSTEIN. 

anything  to  say,"  answered  the  jester ;  "  for 
whatever  age  says,  youth  will  not  believe,  and 
whatever  wisdom  advises,  folly  will  not  follow ; 
grace  has  gone  out  of  season  with  garden  rue ; 
and  wit,  as  well  as  wisdom,  has  become  the 
property  of  fools.  Argue  me  now  wisely,  with 
a  sleek  young  crimson-spotted  trout,  upon  the 
eminent  perdition  which  befalls  him  if  he 
snaps  at  a  gay-looking  fly  with  a  hook  in  its 
belly ;  yet  will  your  trout  leap  at  the  bait,  and 
soon  be  flapping  his  broad  tail  on  the  bank. 
If  the  hook  break  in  his  jaws,  indeed,  he  will 
gain  wit  from  his  wound,  and  look  before  he 
leaps  another  time — experience  is  the  scourge 
that  drives  us  all,  admonition  but  a  fool's 
blown  bladder,  that  makes  a  sound  where  it 
strikes,  but  no  impression.  Boys  will  after 
their  own  game,  as  a  goshawk  after  a  par- 
tridge— and  a  pretty  pair  of  heels,  or  a  small 
delicate  hand,  most  kissable  and  sugary,  rosy 
lips  set  in  a  white  skin,  like  strawberries  in 
cream,  and  eyes  that  say  '  Come,  love  me,' 
will  any  day,  about  feeding  time,  make  a  lad 


EHRENSTEIN.  227 

like  that  jump  at  a  hook  that  will  draw  him 
into  the  frying-j^an.  Heaven  help  and  mend 
us  all ! 

Beauty's  a  butterfly,  and  youth 's  a  boy, 

Let  him  catch  it  if  he  can. 
When  he  casts  away  his  toy, 

He  may  learn  to  be  a  man." 

"  Pretty  Mistress  Bertha  would  n't  thank 
him  if  she  could  hear  that,"  said  Sickendorf, 
apart  to  his  fellow-knight. 

"  Mistress  Bertha  !"  answered  old  Mosbach. 
"  I  've  a  notion  the  young  cockerel  carries  his 
eyes  higher  than  that,  and  all  this  notice  of 
him  will  spoil  him.  The  other  day  I  saw  him 
looking  into  the  Lady  Adelaide's  eyes,  and 
she  into  his,  as  if  they  were  drinking  love 
pledges  to  one  another." 

"  Pooh !  nonsense,"  answered  Sickendorf. 
"  You  are  always  finding  out  a  nest  of  cock's 
eggs,  Karl.  Have  you  nothing  to  say  to  us. 
Sir  Jester?"  he  continued  aloud,  speaking 
across  the  table. 

"  Good  faith  !  but  little,"  answered  the  other  ; 

Q  2 


228  EHRENSTEIN. 

"  your  old  man  is  worse  to  deal  with  than  your 
young  one,  for  he  is  as  weak  in  the  wit  as  in 
the  hams,  and  his  brain,  like  a  worn  horse- 
trough,  is  ever  leaking  with  watery  talk. 

Graybeards  and  wisdom  were  married  one  day ; — 

'T  is  a  very  long  time  since  then — 
But  they  parted  by  chance  upon  the  highway 

And  ne'er  came  together  again. 

Leave  wine,  and  leave  women,  graybeard,  and  leave  oaths, 

Leave  dicing,  and  jesting,  and  scoffing  ; 
And  thou'It  find  thine  old  wife,  dressed  in  her  best  clothes, 

At  thy  long  journey's  end — in  the  coffin." 

"There  Sickendorf,"  cried  the  Count  of 
Ehrenstein,  "you  have  enough,  methinks. 
For  my  part,  I  will  not  tempt  our  friend." 

"  Then  you  shall  have  counsel  without  ask- 
ing," answered  the  jester,  and  he  went  on  in 
his  usual  rude  verse  as  follows : — 

"The  noble  lord,  the  just,  the  true — 
Methinks  I  see  him  now — 
Claims  from  no  vassal  more  than  due— 
But  gives  him  more,  I  trow. 


EHRENSTEIN.  229 

IVo  stolen  swine  grunts  in  his  sty, 

'No  plundered  goose  complains, 
No  cackling  hens  against  him  cry, 

His  barn  no  spoil  contains. 

Quick  he  restores  what 's  wrongly  got, 

Without  a  suit  at  law, 
His  sword  has  never  cut  a  knot, 

His  fingers  could  not  draw. 

If  such  thou  art,  no  danger  dread, 

In  camp,  in  court,  in  town, 
But  if  thou'rt  not,  beware  thy  head, 

For  sure  thou 'It  tumble  down." 

At  the  first  stanza  tlie  Lord  of  Ehrenstein 
smiled  pleasantly,  but  as  the  jester  went  on 
to  paint  a  character,  which  by  no  stretch  of 
human  vanity  he  could  attribute  to  himself, 
his  laugh  grew  somewhat  grim,  and  although 
all  the  customs  of  the  day  required  that  he 
should  seem  amused  with  the  jester's  observa- 
tions, even  when  they  hit  him  the  hardest, 
yet  he  might  have  made  a  somewhat  tart 
reply  in  the  shape  of  a  joke,  which  he  was 
very  well  qualified  to  do,  if  he  had  not  been 


230  EHRENSTEIN. 

interrupted  before  lie  could  speak.  Just  as  the 
jester  concluded,  however,  a  loud,  wild,  ex- 
traordinary burst  of  martial  music  drowned 
every  other  sound  at  the  table :  clarions  and 
trumpets,  drums  and  atabals,  sounded  all 
round  the  hall,  in  a  strain  so  peculiar,  that 
ears  which  had  once  heard  it,  could  never 
forget  it  again.  Count  Frederick  started,  and 
turned  towards  the  Count,  exclaiming,  "  Odds 
life!  we  are  in  Africa  again.  Whence  got 
you  this  Moorish  music,  my  lord  ?  I  have 
not  heard  the  like  since  I  was  at  Damietta. 
You  must  have  a  whole  troop  of  Moslema." 

The  Count's  cheek  had  turned  very  pale, 
and  Ferdinand's  eye  was  seen  wandering 
round  the  hall,  as  if  expecting  some  strange 
sight  suddenly  to  present  itself. 

"  In  truth,  I  know  not  whence  these  sounds 
come,"  answered  the  Count,  after  a  moment's 
pause  for  consideration;  and  he  then  added, 
seeing  that  any  further  attempt  at  concealment 
would  be  vain,  "It  is  no  ordinary  place,  this 
castle  of  Ehrenstein,   my  noble  friend.     We 


EHRENSTEIN.  231 

have  strange  sights,  and  strange  sounds  here. 
But  what  matters  it?  We  are  not  men 
to  be  frightened  by  unsubstantial  sounds  or 
appearances  either.  I  drink  to  your  health," 
and  fining  his  cup  high  with  wine,  he  said 
aloud — the  music  having  by  this  time  ceased, 
"  To  Count  Frederick  of  Leiningen  !" 

His  guest  immediately  answered  the  pledge, 
saying,  "  Health  to  the  Count  of  Ehrenstein !" 
but  instantly  a  loud  voice  echoed  through  the 
hall,  pronouncing  in  a  solemn  tone,  "  Health 
to  the  Dead!" 

"This  is  mighty  strange!"  exclaimed  Count 
Frederick,  setting  down  his  cup  scarcely 
tasted.  "  Methought  I  had  seen  or  heard  all 
of  wonderful  that  this  earth  can  produce,  but 
now  I  come  back  to  my  own  land  to  witness 
things  stranger  still. —  This  must  be  Satan's 
work.  We  must  get  you,  good  father,  to  lay 
this  devil." 

"  Please  you,  my  noble  lord,"  replied  the 
priest,  whose  face  had  turned  as  white  as 
paper,  "  I  would  rather  have  nothing  to  do 


232  EHRENSTEIN. 

with  him.  There  is  the  Abbey  hard  by, 
surely  the  good  fathers  there  could  keep  the 
place  free  from  spirits  if  they  liked  it. — -It 
is  their  business,  not  mine,  and  as  I  see  the  lady 
is  rising,  by  my  troth,  I  will  go  to  bed  too,  for  I 
am  somewhat  weary  with  our  long  marches." 

"  It  may  be  better  for  us  all  to  do  so,  too," 
said  Count  Frederick;  but  his  host  pressed 
him  to  stay  longer  so  earnestly,  that  he  sat 
down  for  a  few  minutes,  while  Adelaide  and 
the  priest  retired  from  the  hall.  The  retainers 
of  the  two  noblemen  did  not  venture  to  follow 
their  own  inclinations  and  the  priest's  example, 
but,  though  the  lord  of  Ehrenstein  pressed  the 
wine  hard  upon  them,  all  mirth  was  at  an  end, 
and  whispered  conversations  alone  went  on, 
except  between  the  two  counts,  who  spoke 
a  few  words  from  time  to  time,  in  a  louder  tone, 
but  evidently  with  a  great  effort,  and  at  the  end 
of  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  during  which 
there  was  no  further  interruption.  Count  Frede- 
rick rose, — begging  his  entertainer  to  excuse 
him,  for  retiring  to  rest. 


EHRENSTEIN.  233 

All  were  eager  to  rise,  and  to  get  out  of 
a  place  where  none  of  them  felt  themselves  in 
security;  but  Ferdinand  touched  his  lord's 
arm,  as,  with  a  gloomy  brow,  he  was  following 
his  guest  from  the  hall,  saying,  in  a  low  voice, 
"What  is  to  be  done  with  all  this  gold  and 
silver,  my  lord?  we  shall  never  persuade  the 
sewers  to  clear  it  away  to-night." 

"  I  know  not,"  answered  the  Count,  moodily, 
but  aloud.  "  You  must  lock  the  door,  or  stay 
and  watch." 

Ferdinand  fell  back,  and  suffered  the  stream 
to  pass  by  him,  meditating  thoughtfully  upon 
how  he  should  act.  As  was  not  uncommon  in 
those  days,  there  was  a  good  deal  of  confusion 
in  his  mind  in  regard  to  matters  of  superstitious 
belief.  Persons  of  strong  intellect,  however 
rude  the  education  which  they  had  received, 
were  not  easily  induced  to  suppose  that  beings 
merely  spiritual  could  have  the  powers  and 
faculties  of  corporeal  creatures,  and  although 
few  doubted  the  fact  of  apparitions  being  fre- 
quently seen,  and  even  heard  to  speak,  yet  they 


534  EHRENSTEIN. 

did  not  believe  in  general  that  they  had  any 
power  of  dealing  with  substantial  bodies.  Thus, 
when  Ferdinand  thought  of  the  events  of  the 
preceding  night,  although  he  could  not  doubt 
the  evidence  of  his  own  senses,  yet  the  fact  of 
the  banner  having  been  changed  puzzled  him  a 
good  deal,  and  in  his  straightforward  simplicity 
he  asked  himself,  "  If  ghosts  can  carry  away  so 
heavy  a  thing  as  a  banner  and  a  banner  pole, 
why  should  they  not  take  silver  tankards  and 
golden  cups?"  He  looked  at  the  different 
articles  that  strewed  the  tables  with  a  doubtful 
eye,  at  first  proposing  to  move  them  to  a  safer 
place  himself,  but  upon  the  cross  table  were 
many  large  silver  plates  and  dishes  loaded  with 
fragments  of  the  meal,  and  he  felt  a  repugnance 
to  undertake  for  any  one  an  office  unsuited  to 
his  birth.  To  lock  the  door  and  leave  the 
things  to  their  fate,  he  could  not  help  thinking 
might  be  merely  consigning  the  valuable  stores 
that  were  there  displayed  to  a  place  from 
which  they  were  never  likely  to  return — 
whether  above  the  earth  or  under  the  earth,  he 


EHRENSTEIN.  235 

did  not  stop  to  inquire — and  at  length,  after 
a  little  hesitation,  he  said,  "  I  will  stay  and 
watch.  They  did  me  no  harm  last  night,  why 
should  they  harm  me  to-night?  I  can  rest 
here  as  well  as  in  my  bed,  and  I  should  like  to 
see  more  of  these  strange  things. — They  are 
awful,  it  is  true;  but  yet,  what  has  one  to 
fear  with  God  and  a  good  conscience, — I  will 
stay." 

Just  as  he  came  to  this  resolution,  he  heard  a 
returning  step  in  the  vestibule,  the  door  leading 
to  which  had  been  left  open  behind  the  retreat- 
ing crowd,  and  the  next  minute  the  face  of  the 
jester  appeared  looking  in.  "  Ha,  ha !  good 
youth,"  he  said  ;  "  are  you  going  to  stay  here, 
like  a  bait  in  a  rat-trap,  till  our  friends  the 
ghosts  come  and  nibble  you?  I  heard  what 
your  excellent,  good  lord  said, — a  wise  man! 
an  admirably  wise  man  !  who  understands  the 
craft  of  princes,  and  leaves  his  followers  a 
pleasant  choice,  in  which  they  are  sure  to 
get  blame  or  danger,  in  whatever  way  they  act. 
What  do  you  intend  to  do  ?  lock  up  the  door 


236  EHRENSTEIN. 

and  leave  the  cups  and  tankards  for  devils 
to  drink  withal?  or  to  wait  and  hear  them 
company,  if  they  choose  to  come  and  have 
a  merry  bout  with  you  1 

"  I  shall  stay  and  watch,"  answered  Ferdi- 
nand ;  "  I  am  not  a  steward  or  a  scullion,  to 
move  plates  and  dishes,  and  if  I  leave  them  here 
Heaven  only  knows  where  they  will  be  to- 
morrow!" 

"  Then,  good  faith !  I  '11  stay  and  watch  with 
you.  Sir  Ferdinand,"  answered  the  jester ; 
"  two  fools  are  better  than  one,  at  any  time, 
and  one  by  profession  and  one  by  taste  ought 
to  be  a  match  for  a  score  or  two  of  spirits, 
whether  they  be  black,  white,  or  grey." 

"  I  've  a  notion,  Herr  Von  Narren,"  answered 
Ferdinand;  "that  you  have  less  of  a  fool  in 
you  than  many  who  would  be  more  ashamed  of 
the  name." 

"Good  lack!"  answered  the  jester,  "you 
do  my  wit  but  little  justice,  youth.  Who 
would  not  be  a  fool,  when  wise  men  do  such 
things  every  day.     Better  to  profess  folly  at 


EHRENSTEIN.  237 

once,  of  your  own  good  will,  than  to  have 
other  men  j^ut  the  cap  upon  your  head.  A 
fool  has  one  great  advantage  over  a  wise  man 
which  no  one  will  deny  him — a  fool  can  be 
wise  when  he  pleases,  a  wise  man  cannot  be 
foolish  when  he  likes.  Oh !  the  bauble  for 
ever ;  I  would  not  change  my  motley  just 
yet  for  a  robe  of  minever.  But  we  '11  watch, 
we  '11  watch,  and  we  '11  make  ourselves  com- 
fortable too.  By  my  faith !  it  gets  cold  of 
nights,  or  else  the  chilly  wing  of  another 
world  is  flapping  through  this  old  hall.  Go, 
get  some  logs,  good  youth,  and  we  '11  have 
a  fire  then ;  with  our  toes  upon  the  andirons, 
and  our  chins  in  our  palms.  By  the  beard  of 
St.  Barnabas,  we  '11  tell  old  stories  of  strange 
things  gone  by,  till  the  cock  shall  crow  before  we 
know  it.  You  are  not  afraid  to  leave  me 
with  the  tankards,  I  suppose,  for,  on  my  life, 
I  drink  fair  with  every  man,  and  have  no 
itch  for  silver." 

"  Oh  no,  I  do  not  fear,'*  answered  Ferdi- 
nand, "  and  I  '11  soon  bring  logs  enough  for 


238  EHRENSTEIN.  , 

the  niglit.  A  clieerful  blaze  will  do  us  no 
harm,  and  I  shall  he  glad  of  your  company." 

Thus  saying,  he  left  the  place,  and  from 
the  great  coffer  at  the  entrance  of  the  lesser 
hall,  he  soon  loaded  himself  with  sufficient 
wood,  as  he  thought,  to  last  the  night.  When 
he  re-entered  the  great  hall,  he  found  the  jester 
walking  back  from  the  other  end  towards  the 
centre,  where  the  fireplace  stood;  and  as  he 
came  near,  the  young  man  inquired, "  Were  you 
talking  to  yourself  just  now,  Herr  Von  Narren? " 

"  Nay,  good  sooth,  that  were  waste  of 
words,"  answered  the  jester.  "  I  was  peeping 
through  yonder  keyhole,  and  as  it  is  a  mighty 
ghostly  looking  door,  I  thought  I  might  as 
well  tell  the  spirits  not  to  disturb  us,  as  we 
had  much  to  talk  about.  They  took  it  all 
in  good  part,  poor  things,  and  said  nothing ; 
though  after  all  it  would  be  but  charity  to 
let  them  come  and  have  a  warm  at  our  good 
ftre,  for  it  must  be  cold  down  stairs,  I  fancy, 
and  your  ghost  is  thinly  clad.  Where  does 
yon  door  lead  to,  good  youth?" 


EHRENSTEIN.  239 

"To  the  serf's  burying  vault,"  answered 
Ferdinand,  "  and  then  to  the  old  chapel  under 
the  new  one." 

"  Ha,  ha !  all  convenient  for  the  ghosts," 
said  the  jester,  "  but  there  must  be  a  number 
of  sad  Turks  amongst  them  to  make  such  a 
noise  with  their  atabals  as  they  did  to-night. 
There,  you  reach  me  down  a  lamp,  while  I 
lay  the  sticks.  Trust  a  fool  for  making  a  fire, 
if  he  do  not  make  it  too  large :  then  he  may 
bum  his  own  fingers,  and  the  house  too.  We 
will  put  out  half  the  sconces,  and  so  we  shall 
have  candlelight  till  the  morning,  when  the 
sun  and  the  tapers  may  wink  at  each  other, 
like  merry  maids  upon  a  May-day." 

The  fire  was  soon  lighted,  and  the  sugges- 
tion regarding  the  sconces  carried  into  exe- 
cution; after  which,  Ferdinand  and  the  jester 
drew  two  stools  into  the  wide  chimney,  and 
the  latter  bringing  the  large  flagon  of  wine 
and  two  cups  from  the  cross  table,  set  the 
beaker  down  upon  the  hearth,  saying,  "  We 
will  drink  and  keep  our  spirits  up." 


240  EHRENSTEIN. 

"Nay,"  answered  Ferdinand,  "I  want  no 
wine  for  tliat  purpose.  I  will  take  one  cup, 
for  I  have  liad  none  to-night,  and  I  have 
worked  hard  during  the  day,  but  if  I  took 
more,  I  should  sleep  and  not  watch." 

"  Ay,  young  brains  are  soon  addled,  like  a 
pigeon's  egg,"  answered  the  jester.  "  And  so 
you  are  Ferdinand  of  Altenburg?" 

Ferdinand  nodded  his  head,  answering,  with 
a  smile,  "  No  other." 

"  You  are  a  bold  man,"  said  his  companion, 
"  to  give  me  such  an  answer." 

"  How  so  ?"  demanded  Ferdinand,  "  I  must 
surely  know  who  I  am  myself." 

"If  you  know  yourself,  you  are  the  first 
man  that  ever  did,"  replied  the  jester.  "  Your 
father  was  a  proper  man." 

"Indeed!  did  you  know  him?"  exclaimed 
Ferdinand. 

"  Oh,  dear  no,  not  at  all,"  said  the  Herr  Von 
Narren,  "but  my  uncle  Frederick  told  us  so 
at  supper.  I  knew  your  grandfather  and  your 
great-grandfather,  and  I  was  distantly  related 


EHRENSTEIN.  241 

to  his  great-grandfather  ;  for  as  Adam  was  the 
first  of  my  ancestors,  and  all  his  race  sprang 
from  Eve,  there  was  some  connection  between 
us,  either  by  blood  or  matrimony — Do  yon 
remember  your  father  ?" 

"  No,"  answered  Ferdinand,  "  I  was  but  a 
mere  boy  when  he  died." 

"  Ay,  then  you  were  not  long  acquainted," 
said  the  jester.  "  I  remember  mine  quite  well, 
and  how  he  used  to  tickle  me  with  his  beard — 
that's  longer  ago  than  you  recollect,  or  than 
you  could  if  you  would,  for  to  ask  you  for 
a  long  memory  in  your  short  life,  would  be 
like  putting  a  gallon  of  wine  into  a  pint 
stoup — But  I'll  tell  you  a  story,  cousin." 

"What  is  it  about?"  asked  Ferdinand, 
drinking  some  of  the  wine  out  of  the  cup 
he  held  in  his  hand.  "  Is  it  a  story  of  faerie, 
or  about  the  Saracens,  or  of  knightly  deeds 
here  in  our  own  land  ?" 

"A  little  of  all,  a  little  of  all,  cousin," 
answered  the  jester.  "It's  a  Saturday's  stew, 
containing  fragments  of  all   things   rich  and 

VOL.    I.  R 


242  EHRENSTEIN. 

rare,  with  a  sauce  of  mine  pwn  composing. 
'Now  listen  and  you  shall  hear.  Once  upon 
a  time  there  was  a  prince — we'll  call  him 
prince  for  want  of  a  better  name ;  without 
offence  too,  for  a  prince  may  be  a  gentleman 
sometimes — well,  this  prince  lived  at  ease  in 
his  own  land — for  you  see  he  had  neither 
wife  nor  child  to  vex  him — and  a  very  merry 
prince  he  was.  Well  might  he  be  so,  too, 
for  everybody  did  just  what  he  liked,  and  he 
drank  the  best  wine  and  ate  the  best  meat, 
and  slept  upon  good  goose-feathers  which  he 
had  not  the  trouble  of  plucking ;  and  then, 
moreover,  he  had  a  jester  who  was  fit  to 
make  any  heart  gay.  Besides  this  jester,  he 
had  a  brother,  a  wise  man  and  a  thoughtful, 
full  of  all  sorts  of  learning  ;  for  they  wished  to 
make  a  bishop  of  him,  but  he  loved  the  sword 
better  than  the  coif,  and  all  he  learned  in  the 
convent  was  Latin  and  Greek,  and  reading 
and  writing,  and  Aristotle,  and  Duns  Scotus, 
and  to  love  nobody  better  than  himself." 

"Ha!"  exclaimed  Ferdinand,  beginning  to 


EHRENSTEIN.  243 

think  that  he  perceived  some  drift  in  the 
man's  tale,  but  he  made  no  observation,  and 
the  jester  continued. 

"  Well,  the  prince  loved  his  brother  very 
much,  and  they  lived  together  in  the  same 
castle,  and  passed  their  time  pleasantly  ; 
they  hunted  together,  and  they  made  a 
little  war,  and  then  they  made  a  little  peace  ; 
and  while  the  men  at  arms  played  at 
mutton-bones  in  the  court-yard,  the  two 
lords  played  at  chess  in  the  hall — and  I  can 
tell  you,  that  though  the  brother  won  the 
first  game,  the  prince  won  the  second,  and 
the  jester  stood  by  and  laughed.  Merrily 
passed  the  time,  and  if  men  would  but  be 
contented  in  this  world,  life  would  be  like  a 
summer  day,  but  the  brother  was  always 
urging  the  prince  to  this  war  or  that,  for 
the  glory  of  their  house,  as  he  called  it ;  and 
sometimes  he  went  himself,  and  sometimes 
he  stayed  at  home  to  take  care  of  the  castle, 
while  the  prince  followed  his  advice ;  and 
then  the  brother   one   day  thought  it  would 

R  2 


244  EHRENSTEIN. 

be  a  good  tiling  for  the  prince  to  go  and  visit 
Jerusalem,  and  that  it  would  be  honourable, 
as  he  knew  something  of  hard  blows  and  of 
leading  armies,  to  help  the  knights  hospitallers 
and  other  sagacious  men  who  were  fighting 
for  the  pure  pleasure  of  the  thing,  to  get 
lands  which  they  could  not  keep  when  they 
had  got  them.  And  the  prince  thought  it 
a  very  good  plan ;  and  as  he  had  got  a 
great  number  of  chests  full  of  money,  he 
went  away  to  sow  it  in  the  fields  of  Syria, 
and  to  see  if  it  would  grow  there.  As  he 
had  a  multitude  of  stout  young  men,  too,  who 
always  required  bleeding  in  the  summer  time, 
he  took  them  with  him,  but  as  his  brother 
was  of  a  cold  constitution,  he  left  him  at  home 
to  keep  house.  Now  the  prince  having 
neither  wife  nor  child,  his  dear  brother  was 
his  heir." 

"  I  see,"  said  Ferdinand.    "  Go  on,  Herr!" 
"  Before  they  went,"   continued  the  jester, 
"the  brother  had  a  good  deal  of  talk  with 
some  of  the  prince's  followers,  and  told  them 


EHRENSTEIN.  245 

how  much  he  loved  their  dear  lord.  He 
did  not  say  that  he  wished  him  dead ;  oh 
dear,  no,  that  was  not  the  way  at  all ;  but 
he  told  them  all  that  he  would  do  if  he  were 
prince,  and  how  he  would  promote  them, 
and  left  Sir  Satan,  the  king  of  all  evil  imagina- 
tions, to  deal  with  their  consciences  as  he 
might  find  expedient.  Well,  the  prince  went 
away,  and  took  with  him  his  jester  as  his 
chief  counsellor,  though  he  never  took  his 
counsel  either,  for  if  he  had  he  would  have 
staid  at  home.  But  so  they  went  on  up  by 
the  Boden  Sea,  and  then  by  the  Vorarlberg 
and  through  the  Tyrol,  kissing  the  Emperor's 
hand  at  Inspruck,  and  then  came  to  Venice, 
and  there  they  had  an  audience  of  the  Duke ; 
and  at  Venice  they  staid  a  long  time,  for 
there  was  a  fair  Venetian  lady  that  the  prince 
loved  passing  well — "  and  the  jester  paused, 
and  gazed  thoughtfully  into  the  fire  for  several 
moments. 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  my  talc,  how- 
ever," he  continued,  at  length.     "  The  prince 


246  EHRENSTEIN. 

went  on,  and  after  long  journeying,  he  came 
to  the  place  whither  he  was  going ;  and  though 
it  was  once  a  land  flowing  with  milk  and 
honey,  very  little  honey  and  no  milk  was  to 
be  found  there  then.  So,  to  keep  down  their 
appetites,  he  and  his  followers  took  to  fighting 
in  real  earnest ;  one  day,  however,  a  certain 
officer  of  the  prince,  and  a  great  friend  of  his 
brother's,  brought  him  word  that  there  were  a 
number  of  Moslem  in  a  valley  not  far  from 
the  castle  where  they  were,  and  that  if  he 
would  go  out  with  his  men,  while  the  knights 
of  the  hospital  guarded  the  castle,  he  might 
have  them  all  as  cheap  as  gudgeons.  The 
prince  had  some  doubts  of  his  friend,  and 
sent  out  for  better  intelligence,  but  finding  that 
all  that  he  said  seemed  very  true,  he  got  upon 
horseback,  and  sallied  forth  with  his  people. 
About  three  or  four  miles  from  the  castle, 
however, '  he  was  suddenly  surrounded  and 
attacked  on  all  sides  by  a  number  of  the 
Moslem,  of  whom  his  officer  had  quite  for- 
gotten  to   tell    him,    though   they   had   been 


EHRENSTEIN.  247 

watching  there  since  daybreak.  Nevertheless 
he  fought  tolerably  well,  considering  he  was 
a  prince,  and  he  and  his  men  might  perhaps 
have  got  out  of  the  trap,  by  the  force  of  imj^u- 
dence  and  a  strong  arm,  if  his  friend  the 
officer  had  not  come  behind  him  just  then  and 
struck  him  a  gentle  stroke,  with  something- 
sharp,  in  the  neck,  about  the  place  where  the 
gorget  joins  the  cuirass.  Upon  that  the  prince 
incontinent  tumbled  headlong  off  his  horse ; 
the  Moslem  closed  in  on  all  sides,  and  with 
their  sharp  scimeters  sent  the  heads  flying 
about  like  pippins  shaken  off  a  tree.  All  were 
killed  or  taken  except  one,  who  got  through 
and  galloped  away,  first  carrying  the  news 
of  the  defeat  to  the  knights  of  St.  John  in  the 
castle,  and  then  to  the  prince's  brother  at 
home." 

"  This  was  of  course  the  traitor  who  mur- 
dered his  lord,"  exclaimed  Ferdinand,  who 
had  listened  with  ever-growing  interest. 

"Oh  dear,  no,"  replied  the  jester;  '*  his 
friends  the  Moslem  kept  him,  but  thought  he 


248  EHRENSTEIN. 

would   be   safer  in   two   pieces,   and  so  they 
separated  liis  head  from  his  shoulders." 

"  A  very  wise  precaution/  answered  Ferdi- 
nand, "  the  true  way  of  recompensing  traitors. 
And  what  became  of  the  j  ester  ?  He  was  taken 
prisoner,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  was,"  answered  his  companion. 
"  But  now  listen ;  I  am  coming  to  the  most 
curious  part  of  my  story,  and  that  is  the 
history  of  the  prince's  followers  after  they  were 
dead.  One  clear,  moonlight  night,  I  have 
heard  say,  just  as  they  were  all  lying  in  the 
rocky  valley,  where  they  had  fallen,  and  their 
bones,  well  picked  by  the  wild  beasts  of  that 
country,  were  shining  white  amongst  the 
bushes  and  large  stones,  there  came  suddenly 
amongst  them  a  tall  thin  figure,  like  a  shadow 
on  the  wall,  through  which  you  could  see  the 
rocks,  and  the  branches,  and  the  round-faced 
moon,  just  as  if  it  had  been  the  horn-plate  of 
a  lantern ;  and  it  stooped  over  the  bones,  and 
looked  at  them,  and  counted  them  one  by  one, 
and  then  it  said  to  each  fleshless  head,  sepa- 


EHRENSTEIN.  249 

rately, — ''  The  man  whose  insinuations  brought 
about  your  death,  has  strangled  me  in  the 
vaults  of  his  castle,  though  he  knew  that  I  was 
innocent.  Rise  up,  then,  all  that  were  true  to 
their  prince,  and  come,  let  us  to  his  brother's 
house,  and  plague  him  night  and  day, — at  his 
board,  and  in  his  bed.  Let  us  give  him  no 
rest  so  long  as  he  remains  upon  the  earth ! ' 

"  The  moment  he  had  spoken,  slowly  rising 
out  of  the  ground,  came  a  number  of  thin, 
shadowy  figures,  like  himself,  and  they 
mounted  calmly  into  the  air,  and  floated  away 
towards  this  land,  just  as  you  see  a  cloud  rise 
out  of  the  west,  and  soar  slowly  along,  casting 
a  shadow  as  it  flies.  AVhere  they  went  to,  and 
what  they  did,  let  the  wise  say ;  I  know  not. 
Only  this  I  know,  and  that  I  heard  from  one 
who  saw  it,  that  the  prince's  followers,  a  great 
many  years  after  they  were  killed  and  lying 
on  the  dry  Syrian  ground,  rose  up,  man  by 
man,  each  just  like  his  own  living  self,  and 
came  away  to  their  own  land  to  torment  their 
good  lord's  bad  brother.    One,  indeed,  remained 


250  EHRENSTEIN. 

behind,  but  he  was  the  man  who  smote  his 
prince  in  the  neck  when  he  was  contending 
with  the  infidels;  but  doubtless  the  Moslem 
pickled  him,  for  he  was  worth  preserving,  and 
salt  meat  keeps  better  than  fresh,  you  know, 
Sir  Ferdinand." 


EHRENSTEIN.  251 


CHAPTER  XIL 

Ferdinand's  teeth  were  set  hard,  and  his 
hands  clasped  tight  together  as  the  jester's 
story  ended,  and  for  a  moment  or  two  he 
did  not  speak;  but  at  length  he  inquired, 
"  And  how  long  was  it  ago  that  the  good  lord 
fell  ?" 

"  Oh,  a  long  while,"  answered  his  com- 
panion, "  long  enough  for  young  men  to 
grow  old,  and  for  old  men  to  wither  and  rot. 
Some  twenty  years  ago  or  more.  Lackaday 
how  few  twenties  there  are  in  life.  Twenty 
and  twenty  are  forty,  and  twenty  are  sixty: 
how  few  see  the  fourth  twenty !  Who  sees 
the  fifth  ?  The  first  begins  in  the  infant, 
with  a  passion  for  milk;  all  mouth  and  no 
wit ;    and  ends  in  the   youth  with  a  love  for 


252  EHRENSTEIN. 

sweet  ankles  and  for  cherry  lips ;  all  heart 
and  no  brains.  The  second  starts  on  his 
course  like  a  swallow  catching  insects,  and 
ends  like  a  slough-hound  upon  the  track  of 
a  deer:  ambition  flies  before  and  distances 
him  still.  Then  begins  another  twenty,  with 
the  hard  brain  and  the  hard  heart ;  your  man 
of  manifold  experiences,  who  finds  no  pleasure 
in  pippins,  and  is  mailed  against  the  darts 
of  a  dark  eye.  He  must  have  solid  goods, 
forsooth !  and  so  chooses  gold,  which  will  not 
decay  ;  but,  good  faith !  it  matters  little  whether 
it  be  the  possession  which  decays,  or  the  pos- 
sessor, whether  the  gilded  coin  rots,  or  the 
fingers  that  clutch  it :  the  two  part  company  all 
the  same.  Then  comes  the  fourth  twenty,  often 
begun  and  seldom  ended ;  and  we  go  creeping 
backward,  as  if  we  would  fain  run  away  from 
the  other  end  of  life  ;  toys  please  us,  straws 
offend  us ;  we  stumble  at  the  same  mole-hills 
that  tripped  up  our  infancy.  Time  rubs  off 
from  the  score  of  memory  w^hat  experience  had 
written ;    and  when   the  sorrowful   soft  gums 


EHRENSTEIN.  253 

have  eaten  their  second  pap,  death  takes  us 
sleepy  up  and  puts  us  quietly  to  bed.  It  was 
twenty  years  ago,  good  youth,  —  ay,  that  it 
was, — and  twenty  years  is  one  of  those  strange 
jumps  that  are  more  wisely  taken  backwards 
than  forwards." 

"  Methinks,"  said  Ferdinand,  "  that  though 
the  time  is  so  long,  I  know  something  of  this 
story,  too, — "  But  before  he  could  add  more, 
a  slight  sort  of  creaking  noise  was  heard 
proceeding  from  the  end  of  the  hall,  near  the 
chair  of  state.  Ferdinand,  whose  face  was 
already  in  that  direction,  and  the  jester  who 
suddenly  turned  round,  saw  the  small  door 
which  has  been  so  often  mentioned  open 
slowly,  exposing  the  mouth  of  the  passage 
beyond. 

"Ah,  who  have  we  here?"  cried  the  jester. 
"  Some  of  our  friends  from  over  the  sea,  I 
suppose;"  but  no  One  appeared,  and  all  w^as 
silent.  Both  the  watchers  rose,  and  gazed 
for  a  minute  or  two  towards  the  door;  Ferdi- 
nand grasping    the    cross   of   his   sword,    but 


254  EHRENSTEIN. 

the  jester  showing  no  sign  either  of  alarm  or 
surprise. 

"By  my  faith!"  he  exclaimed,  at  length,  "I 
will  see  what  is  beyond,  there.  Will  you  come 
with  me  youth,  or  shall  I  go  alone  ?" 

"I  should  think  from  the  tale  you  have 
told,"  answered  Ferdinand,  "that  you  know 
your  way  right  well  without  guidance.  But  I 
will  go  with  you,  whatever  is  there — I  have 
been  once,  and  will  not  be  stopped  from  going 
again." 

"  Come  along,  then,"  answered  the  jester. 
"  Let  us  each  take  a  lamp,  cousin,  for  the 
dead  must  lack  lights,  as  they  always  choose 
to  w^alk  in  darkness.  Why  is  a  ghost  like 
a  flagon  of  wine  ?  " 

**  Nay,  I  know  not,"  answered  Ferdinand, 
"  and  to  say  truth,  I  am  in  no  jesting  mood 
just  now." 

"  Because  it  comes  out  of  the  vault  at 
midnight,"  answered  the  jester,  "  and  where 
it  enters  there  it  scatters  men's  wits  about. 
Happy  he   who   has    none    to    scatter.      But 


EHRENSTEIN.  255 

come  along,  cousin,  we'll  soon  see  whether 
our  spirits  are  equal  to  theirs — I  feel  rather 
queer,  but  a  mole  wouldn't  mind  it,  for  he's 
accustomed  to  holes  in  the  earth." 

Thus  saying,  he  led  the  way  to  the  door,  and 
entered  the  long  narrow  passage,  Ferdinand  fol- 
lowing, and  each  carrying  a  lamp.  The  jester's 
young  companion,  though  busied  with  many 
other  thoughts,  watched  his  movements  closely, 
in  order  to  obtain  a  confirmation  or  refutation 
of  the  suspicions  which  his  tale  had  excited. 

Those  suspicions,  however,  were  strengthened 
by  all  that  the  young  man  remarked,  "  Damp, 
damp  and  chilly,  as  a  rich  man's  heart,"  mur- 
mured the  jester,  as  he  advanced ;  and  then,  as 
if  his  knowledge  of  the  passages  which  they 
were  following  was  not  of  a  few  hours'  growth, 
he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  door,  at  the  farther 
end,  and  without  hesitation  drew  it  towards  him, 
choosing  at  once  the  way  which  it  really 
opened.  He  next  passed  on  down  the  stone 
steps,  without  a  moment's  pause  to  consider, 
merely    turning    round    and    saying,    "  Take 


256  EHRENSTEIN. 

care  of  your  lamp,  cousin,  for  a  light  ex- 
tinguished in  this  world  is  not  easily  lighted 
again,  whether  it  be  love's  lamp  or  life's.  A 
puff  puts  them  out,  but  a  puff  won't  bring 
them  in  again.  By  the  mass!  the  stones  are 
somewhat  slippery,  and  as  much  out  of  repair  as 
a  fool's  head  or  a  spendthrift's  purse.  I  must 
mind  my  way ;  for  here,  as  on  ambition's  ladder, 
a  small  slip  would  make  a  great  tumble." 

^'  By  my  faith !  you  seem  to  know  your  way 
right  well,  Herr  Von  Narren,"  said  Ferdinand, 
''  better  than  I  do,  methinks." 

"  Ay,  ay,  folly  finds  the  straight  road,  while 
wisdom  is  looking  for  the  short  cut,"  answered 
the  jester.  "  One  can't  well  miss  their  way 
when  there  is  but  one.  But  there  seem  no 
ghosts  here,  except  the  spirit  of  Mistress 
Mildew,  and  she  is  very  prevalent.  We  shall 
lose  our  time,  and  get  no  payment  for  chill- 
ing our  bones,  if  we  get  no  better  apparition 
than  this  green  slime.  I  would  give  a  great 
deal  to  see  a  ghost.  I  never  met  with  one  in 
all  my  travels." 


EHRENSTEIN.  257 

"Perhaps  you  may  be  gmtined  to-night," 
rejoined  Ferdinand,  "for  here  they  wander,  if 
anywhere." 

*•' If  anywhere  !"  exchiimcd  the  jester,  "did 
any  one  ever  hear  such  heretical  unbehef? 
We  knovv'  that  the  church  supports  them, 
because,  I  suppose,  the  poor  things  are  too 
thin  and  unsubstantial  to  stand  of  themselves. 
However,  here  we  are  at  the  bottom ;  praised 
be  Heaven's  mercy  in  not  bringing  us  there 
sooner  !  And  here  is  a  door.  Now,  marry, 
you  and  other  men  of  shrewd  wits  would 
doubtless  be  looking  for  another,  but  I  take 
the  one  that  stands  before  me,  the  sunshine 
of  my  darkness  teaching  me  that  that  which  is 
at  hand  is  always  nearer  than  that  which  is  far 
off.  Now  let  us  see,  it  should  be  pulled  this 
way,  by  the  look  of  the  lock  and  the  hinges, 
but  if  it  be  locked,  what  then?"  —  and  he 
paused  for  a  minute  or  two,  seeming  to  consider 
curiously  the  question  before  he  proceeded  to 
ascertain  the  fact. 

*^  Come,  come,  Herr  von  Narren,"  said  Fcrdi- 

VOL.    I.  s 


258  EHRENSTEIN. 

nand,  "you  know  it  opens  this  way  well 
enough,  and  doubtless  it  is  not  locked,  and 
if  it  be,  I  have  a  key  that  will  open  it." 

"  What !  then  you  come  hither  often,"  said 
the  jester,  "  no  wonder  you  are  less  afraid  of 
haunted  places  than  the  rest." 

"1  do  not  come  here  often, '^  said  Ferdinand, 
somewhat  vexed  at  the  incautious  admission 
he  had  made,  "  1  have  been  here  but  once 
in  my  life  before,  and  even  that  I  do  not 
wish  mentioned,"  and  stretching  forth  his  arm, 
he  pulled  back  the  door,  before  which  his 
companion  was  apparently  inclined  to  hold  a 
long  parley. 

"Bless  the  lad's  heart!"  cried  the  jester, 
*Mie  seems  to  think  that  his  light  words  will 
stay  in  a  fool's  head  for  an  hour.  My  brain 
is  not  bird-lime,  boy,  to  catch  your  fluttering 
things,  and  put  them  in  the  trap.  But  now, 
what  place  is  this?"  and  he  took  a  step  forward 
and  looked  round,  holding  up  the  lamp^n  his 
hand. 
.    "  This  is  the  Serf's  Burial- Vault,"  answered 


EHRENSTEIN.  259 

Ferdinand,  in  a  low  voice,  remembering,  with 
a  sensation  of  awe  that  he  could  not  overcome, 
the  strange  and  fearful  sights  which  he  had 
there  beheld. 

"Hold  up  your  lamp,"  said  the  jester,  in 
a  grave  tone,  "  I  wish  to  see  around  me." 

But  the  darkness,  as  before,  was  too  thick 
to  be  pierced  for  any  distance  by  the  feeble 
rays  of  the  two  lamps,  and  the  next  moment, 
to  his  surprise,  the  young  man  heard  his 
companion  demand  aloud,  "  Where  art  thou, 
Walter?'' 

"Here!"  answered  a  deep  tone  instantly; 
and  following  the  sound,  the  jester  advanced 
direct  towards  the  column,  to  which  the 
skeleton  was  bound  by  the  chain.  There  he 
paused,  and  gazed  upon  it,  as  if  that  had  been 
the  object  he  sought;  and  the  emotions  which 
he  experienced,  whatever  they  were,  seemed 
to  overpower  him,  and  make  him  forget  for 
the  time  the  presence  of  his  companion.  His 
eyes  filled  with  tears,  '•  Honest,  and  faithful, 
and  true,"  he   cried,   "  and  was   this   the  fate 

s  2 


260  EHRE>:STEIN. 

reserved  for  thee  ?  All  could  be  forgiven 
but  this — This  cannot,  if  there  be  jnstice  on 
earth  or  in  heaven/'  and  bending  down  his 
head,  he  slightly  raised  the  bony  fingers  in  his 
own,  and  pressed  his  lips  upon  the  mouldering 
joints. 

There  v^^as  a  faint  sound,  as  of  sobbing  loud, 
but  Ferdinand's  strange  companion  took  no 
notice  of  it,  and  continued  gazing  upon  the 
skeleton  for  several  minutes,  with  a  look  of  deep 
and  intense  thought  in  his  eye,  as  it  wandered 
up  and  down  the  fleshless  limbs.  Then  sud- 
denly turning  away,  he  said,  ^'  Come  on,"  and 
striding  forward  to  the  further  side  of  the  vault, 
he  passed  through  the  archway  into  the  crypt 
or  lower  chapel.  Taking  no  notice  of  several  of 
the  monuments  on  either  side,  and  only  giving 
a  glance  to  the  coffins,  he  went  straight  to  the 
tomb  of  gray  marble,  on  which  was  sculptured  a 
lady  in  the  attitude  of  prayer,  and  there  kneeling 
for  a  few  moments  by  the  side,  he  seemed 
to  busy  himself  in  silent  devotions.  After 
which,    risin^^     he    turned    to   Ferdinand,    and 


EHRENSTEIN.  261 

said,  in  a  mild  but  no  sportive  tone,  "It  is 
done.  Go  back  to  the  hall,  good  youth, 
and  wait  for  me  there.  I  will  not  be  long,  and 
nothing  will  annoy  you  by  the  way." 

Ferdinand  might  think  it  all  strange,  but  yet 
the  words  of  his  companion  seemed  to  have  a 
power  over  him  which  he  could  not  resist,  and 
turning  back  he  retrod  his  steps  to  the  hall, 
where,  after  having  closed  the  door,  he  seated 
himself  before  the  fire  to  wait  for  the  jester's 
return. 

Light-hearted  youth,  that  season  of  great 
powers  and  small  experiences,  may  feel  strong 
and  deep  emotions,  but  their  influence,  on 
the  corporeal  frame  at  least,  is  not  very  perma- 
nent. Weary  with  a  long  day's  exertion,  and 
having  had  little  rest  for  the  three  or  four 
nights  preceding,  Ferdinand's  eyes  felt  heavy ; 
and  that  pleasant  languor  which  precedes  sleep 
stole  over  his  limbs.  He  wished  to  remain 
awake ;  but  3'et  he  leaned  back  for  support 
against  the  stone-work  of  the  Avide  chimney ; 
and  in  a  few  minutes  he  nodded,  woke  up  again. 


262  EHRENSTEIN. 

and  then  fell  into  sound  slumber.  He  was 
awakened  by  a  heavy  hand  grasping  his  shoul- 
der; and  looking  round  he  saw  the  jester 
standing  beside  him,  with  the  fire  in  its  last 
embers,  on  the  hearth,  and  the  lamps  burning 
dim. 

'^I  must  wake  you,  cousin,"  said  his  com- 
panion. "For  we  shall  soon  have  Madam 
Morning  winking  at  us  with  her  old  grey  eye. 
Sleep  is  better  than  w^aking  for  some  good 
reasons,  but  it  must  come  to  an  end,  coz  ! " 

"  Is  it  so  late  ?  "  asked  Ferdinand.  ''  I  thought 
that  I  had  just  closed  my  eyes  !*' 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  blessing  of  youth,"  said  the 
jester;  "  he  thinks  not,  either  sleeping  or  waking. 
He  dreams  while  he  is  waking,  and  forgets 
while  he  is  sleeping,  and  therein  has  he  the  two 
best  gifts  that  man  can  covet — to  dream  and  to 
forget." 

"  I  doubt  not,  from  all  I  see,"  answered  the 
young  man,  ^"'that  there  are  many  things  you 
would  wish  to  forget,  were  it  possible." 

''Hark    ye,   cousin,"  said  the  jester;    "one 


EHRENSTEIN.  263 

thing  we  had  both  better  try  to  forget,  to-wit, 
that  we  have  been  in  those  vauks  together. 
I  have  a  secret  of  yours,  you  have  one  of  mine. 
We  will  each  keep  what  w^e  have  got,  and  give 
it  away  to  nobody,  for  that  would  be  thrift- 
less." 

^^  Nay,  I  have  nought  to  tell,"  answered  Fer- 
dinand ;  "  though  perhaps  something  to  in- 
quire, Herr  Von  Narren.  I  may  suspect,  and  I 
do  ;  but  I  can  do  no  more  than  suspect.  But 
one  thing  I  must  ask  ;  what  you  came  here  for? 
as  I  can  know  of  no  evil  to  my  lord  without 
preventing  it,  otherwise  I  am  a  traitor  !" 

"Why,  what  evil  can  I  do?"  asked  the 
jester,  with  a  smile;  "  what  povv'er  have  I?  Is 
the  fool's  bauble  equal  to  a  baron's  sword  ? 
Good  faith  !  I  will  go  to  the  wars,  and  turn  out  a 
great  conqueror. — I  intend  your  lord  no  harm, 
cousin." 

"  But  you  said  there  was  something  not  to  be 
forgiven,"  replied  Ferdinand. 

"  Nor  will  it,"  said  his  companion,  somewhat 
sternly ;  "  if  there  be  justice  in  Heaven  ;  but  to 


264  EHRENSTEIN. 

Heaven  I  leave  it;  and  in  its  own  good  time  I 
doubt  not  to  see  vengeance  fall  where  it  ouglit. 
What  is  it  that  you  suspect  ?^' 

^'That  you  were  the  follower  of  the  late 
Count  of  Ehrenstein,"  answered  Ferdinand, 
frankly  ;  "  the  jester  3^ou  mentioned  in  the  tale 
you  told ;  and  that  even  now  you  seek  to  revenge 
the  Count's  death." 

His  companion  laughed  aloud.  "  How  thy 
wits  jump  !  "  he  said ;  ''  but  in  one  way,  like  an 
ill-broken  colt,  they  jump  too  far.  I  seek  not 
to  avenge  that  Count's  death  ;  and  by  all  that  I 
hold  sacred,  I  myself  w^ill  never  attempt  it ;  so 
let  that  satisfy  thee,  good  youth." 

*'  And  yet,  perhaps,  I  ought  to  inform  the 
Count  of  who  you  are  ;"  replied  the  young  man, 
thoughtfully. 

"  That  3^ou  cannot  do,"  answered  the  jester; 
'^and  if  you  believe  that  the  tale  I  told  ap- 
plies to  your  lord  and  his  brother,  you  neither 
■will  nor  ought.  Vipers  have  viper's  eggs — 
rogues  serve  rogues  ;  and  the  blood  in  your 
veins  w^ould  cry  out  against  you,  if  you  were  to 


EHRENSTEIN.  265 

make  your  mind  the  bondsman  of  a  felon.  If 
you  think  my  tale  is  true,  quit  this  household 
in  silence,  for  your  own  honour;  if  you  do  not 
believe  the  tale  to  be  applicable  here,  remain  in 
silence.  But  if  you  would  needs  speak,  I  will 
seal  your  lips  with  one  word." 

"Ay!  what  is  that?"  asked  Ferdinand,  in 
some  surprise. 

'^Adelaide  !"  answered  the  jester,  fixing  his 
keen  eyes  upon  him.  "  Is  there  nothing,  good 
youth,  that  you  seek  to  conceal  as  well  as 
myself;  nay,  far  more  than  I  do  ?  for  I  have 
nought  to  fear — j^ou  much.  I  care  not ;  but  that 
it  would  sadden  merry  meetings,  and  break  off 
gay  intercourse,  if  your  good  Count  should 
know  all  that  you  know,  and  more. — Indeed,  I 
promise  you,  that  ere  I  depart  from  this  neigh- 
bourhood, he  shall  hear  the  whole  tale.  He 
would  less  dare  to  wag  a  finger  against  me, 
protected  as  I  am,  than  jump  from  the  top 
of  the  keep ;  but  I  must  choose  my  own  time 
and  my  own  way  to  speak,  and  it  must  not  be 
now." 


266  EHRENSTEIN. 

Ferdinand  had  coloured  high  when  the  name 
of  Adelaide  was  pronounced,  and  now  he  re- 
mained silent  while  his  companion  went  on 
in  a  tone  so  different  from  that  which  he 
generally  used  in  his  jester's  capacity.  An  in- 
stant after,  however,  the  other  suddenly  resumed 
his  ordinary  manner,  and  exclaimed,  "  So  that 
is  settled  between  the  two  fools  who  sat  up  all 
night  watching  for  that  which  did  not  come. — 
Marry,  had  VvC  liked  it,  cousin,  we  might  have 
proved  ourselves  the  wise  men  of  the  party ;  for 
with  plenty  of  wine  and  good  cheer,  we  had 
wherewithal  to  be  merry  and  wise.  Now, 
however,  we  are  sorry  fools ;  for  we  have  neither 
emptied  the  flagons  nor  cleared  the  dishes,  and 
vinegar  will  be  cheap  in  the  market  if  all  that 
wine  stands  there  much  longer." 

''  It  may  serve  as  a  bribe  to  bring  some 
of  the  knaves  in  by  daylight,  to  clear  away  the 
tables,"  answered  Ferdinand.  "  There  is  more 
than  one  amongst  them  who  would  sell  his  own 
soul  for  a  flagon  of  strong  drink." 

"  Then  is  his  soul  dirt  cheap,  or  a  very  bad 


EHRENSTEIN.  267 

one/'  answered  the  jester;  "but,  on  my  life,  I 
believe  the  market  price  of  men's  souls  is  half  a 
florin;  for  day  by  day  we  see  them  sold  for 
less.  The  twinkle  of  a  girl's  eyes  is  current  coin 
against  such  commodities ;  the  pottle-pot  drives 
a  thriving  trade  in  the  mart  of  spirits;  and 
two  small  pieces  of  ivory  spotted  with  black, 
have  nearly  emptied  the  world's  fold  of  its  true 
sheep.  But  there  comes  the  morning.  See 
the  panes  of  glass  in  the  casement  are  looking 
gray,  we  shall  soon  have  the  sun  up,  red  and 
blear-eyed  like  a  drunkard  who  has  sat  up 
all  night  with  the  stoup.  I  '11  hie  me  to  bed,  for 
my  wit  will  want  activity,  and,  good  faith  !  it  is 
o-ettino;  somewhat  weak  in  the  knees." 

"  It  must  be  a  heavy  task  to  be  ever  ready 
with  a  jest,  even  when  the  heart  is  sad."  said 
Ferdinand. 

''What!  a  heavy  task  to  find  light  wit?" 
exclaimed  the  jester.  "  No,  good  youth  ;  let  a 
man  but  look  at  life  as  he  ought,  and  the  burden 
is  easily  borne.  All  things  here  are  but  jests ; 
some  sour,  some  sweet;  some  light,  some  heavy. 


268  EHRENSTETN. 

If  we  cannot  laugh  with,  we  can  laugh  at ;  and 
but  get  your  wit  into  a  cantering  habit,  and 
he  '11  forget  his  grave  paces  and  trip  lightly 
along  the  road.  Habit,  habit,  habit,  cousin  ! 
everything  is  habit  in  this  world.  What  is  that 
makes  the  man  eat  what  the  child  rejects  ? 
Custom.  What  makes  us  endure  a  load  of 
clothes  that  Heaven  never  intended  us  toVear? 
Custom.  Put  a  pair  of  tawny  leather  shoes 
upon  a  child's  bare  feet,  and  he  will  stumble 
over  the  rushes  on  the  floor ;  yet,  see  how  gaily 
the  youth  will  trip  along,  as  if  he  had  been 
born  into  the  world  booted  and  spurred.  The 
eye  and  the  ear,  the  tongue  and  the  nose, 
all  have  their  habits.  Go  into  a  strange  land, 
and  you  will  split  your  sides  at  the  odd  dresses 
of  the  people.  Stay  there  a  year,  and  you  will 
think  your  own  countrymen  as  comical.  The 
blast  of  the  trumpet  cracks  a  lady's  ears ;  ask  the 
li  night  and  his  war  horse  if  ever  they  heard 
sweeter  music.  Good  sooth!  I  do  believe,  if  men 
ate  dirt  and  ashes  for  a  month,  they  would  think 
them  better  than  stewed  ducks  or  a  brawn's 


EHRENSTEIN.  269 

head ;  and  thus  with  me,  though  jesting  be  a 
soYvy  trade  enough  when  the  heart  is  full  or 
the  stomach  empty,  yet,  either  from  lack  of 
continence,  or  discretion,  I  began  early,  and 
now  the  jest  always  gets  the  better  of  the  lamen- 
tation, and  finds  vent  first.  But  look  at  the 
red  light  on  the  floor.  It  is  time  for  night  fowls 
to  roost.  Give  you  good  morning,  cousin  Ferdi- 
nand, I  am  away  to  my  pallet." 


270  EHRENSTEIN. 


CHAPTER  XIIL 

The  morning  was  dull  and  heavy,  though 
fully  risen,  when  Ferdinand  of  Altenburg  was 
summoned  to  the  Count's  chamber ;  but  by  that 
time  he  could  bear  the  tidings  to  his  lord  that 
all  had  been  cleared  away  from  the  hall  at  the 
sacrifice  of  the  wine  which  had  been  left  there. 

"  Enough  was  left,  indeed,  to  render  the 
knaves  half  drunk,"  he  added;  ''but  it  had  the 
effect  of  making  them  swear,  by  all  they  held 
sacred,  that  they  will  never  shun  the  hall  again, 
if  it  were  haunted  by  whole  troops  of  goblins." 

"  We  shall  not  need  to  try  them,  Ferdinand,'* 
replied  the  Count.  "  We  must  change  our 
plan,  good  youth.  We  must  not  have  our  food 
poisoned  by  doubts  and  fears." 


EHRENSTEIN.  271 

The  Count  spoke  thoughtfully,  pausing  when 
he  had  done ;  and  Ferdinand  replied,  "  I  am 
glad  you  have  taken  such  a  resolution,  my  good 
lord.  It  is  true,  I  fear  these  things  not;  but 
still  it  is  high  time  that  something  should  be 
done  to  inquire  into  this  matter,  or  to  remove 
it.  You  have  yourself  now  heard,  and  I  have 
seen  strange  things,  of  which,  I  trust,  some  holy 
man,  some  priest  of  a  good  and  saintly  life,  may 
be  able  to  free  us." 

"  No,  no,"  replied  the  Lord  of  Ehrenstein, 
"  we  v/ill  have  no  priests,  lad,  nor  monks  either. 
They  can  do  nought  in  this  or  aught  else,  but 
in  crafty  policy,  where  the  hundred- headed  and 
perpetual  monster  sets  all  her  everlasting  wits 
to  work.  I  know  their  ways  right  well, 
for  I  was  bred  to  be  one  of  them. — No,  no ! 
We  will  have  no  priests  to  meddle  and  to  babble 
here,  and  tell  the  broad  world  that  I  was  plagued 
v/ith  spirits  at  my  very  hearth.  That  were  an 
old  woman's  remedy,  and  I  will  not  submit  my- 
self to  such  were  there  none  other  in  the  world. 
Not  so,  not  so  will  we  set  to  v;ork ;  but  for  the 


272  EHRENSTEIN. 

future  we  will  take  our  meals  in  separate  parties  : 
some  in  the  lesser  hall,  some  in  the  two  rooms 
on  either  side— but  what  makes  you  look  so 
dull,  as  if  your  mind  were  roaming  to  other 
things? — You  were  not  disturbed,  you  say?" 

''  Oh  no,  my  lord,  this  last  night  I  saw 
nothing,"  answered  Ferdinand;  "but  I  am 
weary  and  feel  heavy  eyed,  having  slept  but 
little  for  several  nights." 

'« Well,  hie  thee  to  bed  then  for  a  while,"  re- 
plied the  Count ;  but  he  was  not  yet  satisfied ; 
for  there  were  signs  rather  of  thought  than  of 
slumber  in  the  young  man's  face  ;  and  with  sus- 
picions, aroused  of  he  knew  not  well  what,  he 
resolved  to  watch  him  more  carefully. 

The  day  passed  nearly  without  events.  The 
whole  party  seemed  relieved,  when  they  found 
that  the  haunted  hall  was  no  more  to  be  visited. 
The  Count  and  his  noble  guest  walked  for  a 
great  part  of  the  morning  on  the  battlements, 
in  earnest  conversation;  the  knights  and  sol- 
diers amused  themselves  with  the  sports  and 
games  of  the  day  in  the  courts  and  chambers, 


EHRENSTEIN.  273 

and  the  hour  of  nooa  brought  with  it  the  usual 
meal.  During  the  whole  morning,  Adelaide 
and  Ferdinand  did  not  meet ;  and  even  at  din- 
ner, by  the  Count's  arrangement,  the  young 
man  was  sent  to  superintend  another  room, 
where  a  table  was  spread  for  some  of  the  chief 
officers  of  both  households.  One  glance  as  he 
passed  through  the  hall  was  all  that  he  obtained, 
and  he  thought  that  Adelaide's  eyes  looked 
anxious.  Count  Frederick  was  standing  on  one 
side  of  the  lady,  and  his  young  follower,  Martin 
of  Dillberg,  on  the  other,  ns  the  lover  crossed 
the  hall  ;  and  on  the  face  of  Dillberg  there  were 
smiles  and  sweet  looks,  which  made  Ferdinand's 
breast  feel  warm  with  sensations  he  had  never 
before  experienced.  Doubt  or  suspicion,  in 
regard  to  Adelaide  herself,  he  could  not  enter- 
tain ;  but  yet  jealousy  has  many  stages,  and 
Ferdinand  hated  Count  Frederick's  follower 
heartily  from  that  moment.  He  felt — or 
fancied  that  they  were  rivals,  and  perhaps,  in 
the  whole  range  of  bitter  emotions,  there  is 
none  more  painful  than  that  v/hich  we  endure, 

VOL.    I.  T 


274 


EHRENSTEIN. 


when  we  know  that  even  for  a  time  a  rival  has 
the  ear  of  her  we  love.  At  the  meal,  he  tried  to 
be  cheerful  as  well  as  courteous,  and  though  it 
cost  him  a  great  effort  to  conceal  his  uneasiness, 
yet  his  manner  was  so  pleasing  to  all,  that  he 
rose  high  in  the  opinion  of  Count  Frederick's 
train,  and  even  at  the  table,  almost  within  his 
own  hearing,  comparisons  were  made  between 
him  and  Martin  of  Dillberg  not  very  favourable 
to  the  latter. 

"  I  love  him  not,"  said  one  ;  "  I  never  have  : 
and  the  more  I  see  of  him  the  less  T  like  him. 
Were  he  like  this  young  squire,  one  could 
understand  our  lord's  favour  for  him." 

"  Ay,"  answered  an  elder  man  to  whom  he 
had  been  speaking,  "  our  lord  w^ill  rue  that 
favour  one  of  these  days.  He  is  cunning  and 
false,  ever  making  his  own  tale  good,  and  seek- 
ing to  injure  others.  I  never  saw  one  yet,  who 
was  so  artful  and  malicious  when  he  was  young, 
that  did  not  commit  some  treachery  before  he 
was  old." 

"  Ay,  the  Count  is  beginning  to  know  him,  I 


EHRENSTEIN.  275 

believe,"  rejoined  the  first,  "  saw  3^ou  not  how- 
he  chid  him  for  the  falsehood  he  told  of  Sigis- 
mond.  He  v/ould  have  done  better  to  send 
him  away  at  once;  but  he  bears  with  him 
because  his  father  was  a  good  soldier  and  an 
honest  man." 

"Ay,  and  his  mother  a  devil  incarnate," 
answered  the  other.  "She  broke  his  father's 
heart,  betrayed  his  honour,  and  ruined  him ; 
and  this  youth  is  her  very  image." 

In  such  comments,  more  than  one  at  the 
table  indulged  very  freely  ;  but  Ferdinand  heard 
them  not,  for  he  was  conversing  somewhat 
eagerly  with  one  of  Count  Frederick's  younger 
knights,  though  the  subject  was  of  no  greater 
interest  than  the  history  of  the  jester.  Fer- 
dinand sought  for  information  to  confirm  or 
remove  the  suspicions  he  entertained,  but  he 
could  obtain  little,  and  indeed  his  companion 
did  not  seem  disposed  to  communicate  much. 
"  I  was  with  a  different  band,"  he  said,  in  answer 
to  one  of  the  young  man's  questions,  "  when 
this  man  joined  the  Count." 

t2 


276  EHRENSTEIN-. 

"  Then  he  did  join  him  in  the  Hol}^  Land?" 
asked  Ferdinand. 

"  I  believe  so,"  was  the  repl}^^  "  but  I  know 
nought  as  certain.  He  might  have  known  the 
Count  before." 

"  I  have  heard  he  saved  your  leader's  life," 
said  the  young  man. 

"  Yes,  so  they  say,"  rejoined  the  knight.  "  I 
was  not  present,  and  know  nothing  of  it." 

All  further  questions  were  equally  fruitless, 
and  Ferdinand  turning  the  conversation  to  the 
subject  which  the  others  had  been  discussing, 
inquired,  "  Who  is  Martin  of  Dillberg,  whom 
your  lord  seems  also  to  love  right  well?" 

"Nay,  that  is  a  mistake,"  answered  the  knight. 
"  He  shows  him  favour,  it  is  true ;  but  I  have 
twice  seen  the  question  hang  in  the  balance 
whether  my  lord  would  not  strike  his  head  off, 
once  for  taking  a  jew^el  off  a  dead  man's  hand, 
and  once  for  betraying  counsel.  But  he  is 
as  cunning  as  a  fox,  and  raised  a  doubt,  by  one 
means  or  another,  as  to  whether  he  did  not  in- 
tend to  carry   the   ring  to   the   widow.      The 


EHRENSTEIN.  2/7 

Other  fault  was  forgiven  on  the  score  of  youth, 
but  with  a  w^arning,  that  if  he  so  offended  again, 
death  would  be  his  doom  without  reprieve." 

"  Perchance  he  is  valiant  in  arms,"  said  Fer- 
dinand; "I  have  ever  heard  that  Count  Fre- 
derick will  forgive  much  to  gallant  men/' 

His  companion  smiled  and  shook  liis  head, 
saying,  "  He  is  no  great  seeker  of  renown, 
this  youth.  Yet  he  is  brave  after  a  certain 
fashion  too.  There  are  some  men,  and  he  is 
one  of  them,  who  would  risk  ten  times  the 
danger  of  a  battle-field,  to  accomplish  a  small 
matter  cunningly.  He  seems  to  enjoy  his  own 
art  so  much,  that  if  it  costs  his  life  he  must 
practise  it,  especially  if  it  be  to  the  injury  of 
others." 

"  A  pleasant  conn-ade  in  a  band  like  yours," 
rejoined  Ferdinand;  and  there  the  conversation 
dropped. 

The  meal  v.-as  drawing  near  its  conclusion, 
when  some  noise  was  heard  in  the  adjoining 
hall,  of  a  different  kind  from  that  which  had 
preceded,  though   in   those  days,    as   often    at 


278  EHRENSTEIN. 

present,  the  hour  of  dinner  was  a  noisy  one. 
The  Count  of  Ehrenstein's  voice  could  be  distin- 
guished asking  questions  with  angry  vehemence, 
and  every  now  and  then  another  answering, 
while  the  tones  of  Count  Frederick  joined  in 
from  time  to  time  even  more  sharply. 

"  What  is  the  matter  in  there,  Henry  ?"  asked 
Ferdinand,  as  one  of  the  sewers  passed  through, 
bearing  some  dishes. 

*'  A  party  of  Venetian  traders,  sir,  have  been 
stopped,  and  plundered  beyond  Anweiler,"  re- 
plied the  man,  "  and  it  seems  they  had  gold 
with  them  belonging  to  Count  Frederick;  so 
they  have  sent  up  to  seek  redress  and  help. 
One  of  them  has  been  killed,  they  say." 

"  Who  has  done  it  ? "  asked  the  young  gen- 
tleman. "  I  thought  such  bands  had  been  put 
down." 

"  Oh,  it  is  the  Baron  of  Eppenfeld,'^  said  the 
sewer;  "  he  will  never  give  up  that  trade;  and 
his  place  is  so  strong,  it  will  be  difficult  to  force 
him." 

Thus  saying,  he  went  on,  and  the  thoughts 


EHRENSTEIN.  279 

of  all  present  turned  to  the  results  that  were 
likely  to  ensue  from  the  event  that  had  just 
occurred.  "  Count  Frederick  will  not  be  long 
out  of  the  saddle,"  observed  one  of  his  attend- 
ants; "  it  is  not  well  to  pull  the  beard  of  an  old 
lion." 

"  I  doubt  we  shall  have  enough  here  to  right 
the  affair,"  rejoined  an  old  soldier ;  "  it  is  un- 
lucky that  one-half  of  the  band  marched  on." 

"  But  the  Count  of  Ehrenstein  will  not  suffer 
his  friend  to  go  unaided,"  answered  Ferdinand. 
"  He  can  call  out  tw^o  hundred  men  at  arms." 

"  That  would  indeed  be  serviceable,"  said  the 
knight,  "  and  doubtless  he  will  do  it ;  for  I  have 
heard  that  this  gold  belonged  to  the  late  Count, 
and  was  found  safely  treasured  in  a  castle  of  the 
Knight's  Hospitallers  on  the  coast." 

Ferdinand  was  about  to  answer,  when  old 
Sickendorf  put  in  his  head,  exclaiming,  "  Here, 
here,  Ferdinand,  the  Count  would  speak  with 
you ;"  and  instantly  rising,  the  young  man  fol- 
lowed into  the  neighbouring  hall.  He  found 
the  two  Counts  apparently  much  excited,  speak- 


280  EHRENSTEIN. 

ing  together  eagerly,  and  a  tall  grave  looking 
elderl}^  man  in  foreign  garments  standing  beside 
them,  occasionally  joining  in  their  conversation, 
which  went  on  for  some  time  after  Ferdinand 
of  Altenburg  had  entered. 

At  length  the  Count  of  Ehrenstein 
turned  towards  him,  saying,  "  Here  is  an 
occasion  for  you,  Ferdinand.  The  Baron  of 
Eppenfeld  has  waylaid  these  merchants  on  their 
way  hither,— from  good  information  of  their 
coming  it  w^ould  seem,  but  how  obtained. 
Heaven  knows.  He  has  seized  all  their  bag- 
gage, and  in  it  treasure  belonging  to  me.  It  is 
judged  but  courteous  to  suppose  that  he  is 
ignorant,  that  I  am  interested,  and  therefore, 
instead  of  going  in  arms  to  demand  reparation 
at  once,  I  send  to  claim  that  all  be  instantly  re- 
stored to  these  noble  merchants,  and  that  com- 
pensation be  given  for  the  death  of  one  of 
their  valets  and  the  w^ounds  of  another:  that 
compensation  to  be  awarded  by  myself  and 
Count  Frederick  here.  You  shall  be  my  mes- 
senger ]  take  with  you  ten  men  at  your  choice, 


EHRENSTEIN.  281 

and  depart  at  once,  so  that  you  be  back  before 
morning.  If  Eppenfeld  will  restore  all  and 
make  compensation,  well;  if  not,  defy  him  in 
my  name  and  in  that  of  Count  /Frederick. 
The  task  is  one  of  honour,  though  of  some 
danger;  but  I  know  it  will  not  be  less  pleasant 
to  you  on  that  account." 

"Thank  you,  my  good  lord,"  replied  Fer- 
dinand ;  "  but  let  me  know  my  errand  fully." 
If  the  Baron  seeks  to  delay  his  reply,  how  am  I 
to  act?  It  is  now  one  of  the  clock,  ride  as  hard 
as  I  will,  I  shall  not  reach  his  castle  gates  till 
five ;  and  he  may  say  that  he  will  give  me  an 
answer  in  the  morning." 

"  Stay  not  an  hour,"  replied  the  Count.  "  I 
would  not  have  you,  or  any  of  your  troop,  either 
break  bread  or  taste  wine  within  his  gates,  till 
the  answer  is  given.  If  he  says  Yes,  you  may 
refresh  yourselves  and  the  horses.  If  he  says 
No,  return  at  once,  and  rest  at  Anweiler.  If  he 
seeks  delay,  give  him  half  an  hour,  and  tell  him 
such  are  our  express  commands.  Now  away,  good 
youth,  to  make  ready.   You  must  all  go  armed." 


282  EHRENSTEIN. 

"I  will  do  your  will  to  the  best,  my  lord,'* 
answered  Ferdinand,  and  with  a  glance  to  the 
pale  cheek  of  Adelaide,  he  was  turning  to  leave 
the  hall,  when  Count  Frederick  called  him 
back,  and  drawing  him  to  the  window,  said, 
in  a  low  voice,  '*I  would  fain  have  3^ou,  my  dear 
lad,  discover,  if  possible,  how  this  worthy  knight 
obtained  intelligence  of  the  merchants'  journey. 
I  must  leave  the  means  to  yourself;  but  I  have 
my  reasons  for  the  inquiry — I  fear  this  may  be 
a  dangerous  expedition  for  you,"  he  added. 

"  More  full  of  danger  than  honour,  my  good 
lord,"  answered  Ferdinand.  "  Small  chance  of 
fair  fighting :  much  of  being  caught  like  a  rat 
in  a  trap.  But  I  will  do  my  best,  and  have 
nought  but  to  obey." 

Thus  saying,  he  left  the  hall,  not  daring  to 
turn  his  eyes  to  Adelaide  again;  and  the  party 
he  left  soon  broke  up.  Count  Frederick  saying 
he  had  a  vow  to  perform  at  the  chapel  of  the 
Virgin,  and  that  he  would  ride  out  to  fulfil  it 
between  that  hour  and  supper  time. 

Choosing  his  men  from  those  on  whom  he 


EHRENSTEIN.  283 

could  best  depend,  Ferdinand  descended  for  a 
moment  to  the  court,  gave  orders  for  the  horses 
to  be  saddled,  and  all  prepared  without  a 
moment's  delay,  and  then  mounted  to  his  own 
chamber  to  arm  himself  in  haste.  He  had 
nearly  done,  and  heard  gay  voices  speaking  on 
the  battlements  far  below,  when  some  one 
knocked  gently  at  his  door. 

"  Come  in,"  cried  the  young  man ;  and 
Bertha  appeared,  with  a  face  half  frightened, 
half  playful. 

''Your  lady  wishes  to  speak  with  you  for  a 
moment  before  you  go,  Sir  Scapegrace,"  said 
the  girl  in  a  low  tone.  "  She  is  in  the  corridor 
below,  and  all  the  rest  are  out  of  the  way  for  a 
minute  or  two,  so  make  haste;"  and  without  more 
words  she  hastened  away,  leaving  the  door  ajar. 

Ferdinand  lost  no  time;  but,  as  ever  is  the 
case  when  one  attempts  to  abridge  a  necessary 
process,  one  thing  went  wrong,  and  then 
another,  so  that  he  was  longer  than  he  would 
have  been  had  he  been  less  in  haste.  At 
length,  however,  all  was  complete ;  and  hurry- 


284  EHRENSTEIN. 

ing  down,  he  found  Adelaide  waiting  anxiously 
near  the  door  of  her  own  apartments,  with 
Bertha  at  a  little  distance  towards  the  top  of 
the  great  stairs.  As  soon  as  she  saw  him,  the 
lovely  girl  sprang  towards  him. 

"  Oh,  Ferdinand,"  she  said,  "  I  have  longed 
to  speak  with  you  all  the  morning;  but  the 
castle  has  been  so  full,  that  it  would  have  been 
madness  to  attempt  it ;  and  now  you  are  going 
whence  you  may,  perchance,  never  return.  At 
all  events,  you  cannot  be  back  in^  time  to  do 
what  is  required." 

''Fear  not  for  me,  dear  one,"  answered  Fer- 
dinand, "  neither  imagine  that  I  will  linger  for 
a  moment  by  the  way,  if  Adelaide  has  aught  to 
command  me." 

"Nay,  it  is  not  I  who  command,"  replied  his 

beautiful  companion  with  a  faint  blush,  "it  is 

Father  George  who  requires  that  you  and  I 

together  shall  be  at  the  chapel  to-night,  some 

time  between  midnight  and  dawn." 

"  Indeed !"  said  Ferdinand,  "  does  he  explain 
for  what  object?" 


EHRENSTEIN.  285 

"  No.  Three  or  four  words  written  in  a 
billet,  closely  sealed,  were  all  the  intimation 
I  have  had,"  answered  Adelaide. 

"  And  would  you  go  if  it  were  possible,  dear 
girl?"  inquired  her  lover. 

*'  I  will  do  whatever  he  directs,"  replied  the 
lady. 

"  Then,  if  there  be  a  means  of  any  kind,  I 
will  be  back ;"  said  Ferdinand.  "  Do  not  re- 
tire to  rest  till  all  hope  of  my  coming  is  over 
for  the  night;  but,  as  perchance,  I  might  be 
detained,  it  were  better  to  send  down  Bertha  to 
the  good  priest  to  let  him  know,  that  if  not 
there  to-night,  we  will  come  to-morrow  night 
without  fail,  if  I  be  alive  and  free." 

As  he  spoke.  Bertha  raised  her  hand  suddenly 
as  a  warning,  and  Adelaide  was  drawing  back 
to  her  own  apartments ;  but  Ferdinand  detained 
her,  saying,  "Do  not  seem  alarmed — 'tis  our 
own  hearts  make  us  fear.  I  may  well  bid  you 
adieu  as  I  should  any  other  lady ;"  and  bending 
his  head  over  her  hand,  he  kissed  it,  saying 
aloud,  "Farewell,  lady — God  shield  you  ever!" 


286  EHRENSTEIN. 

"Farewell,  Ferdinand,"  said  Adelaide,  in  a 
tone  that  somewhat  wavered ;  and,  at  the  same 
moment,  Bertha  drew  nearer,  and  Martin  of 
Dillberg  entered  the  corridor  from  the  great 
stairs.  His  eyes  were  turned  instantly  towards 
the  two  lovers,  and  although  Bertha  was  by  this 
time  close  to  them  with  waitingmaid-like  pro- 
priety, yet  the  youth's  lip  curled  with  a  smile, 
of  not  the  most  benevolent  aspect. 

"  Farewell,  pretty  Bertha,"  said  Ferdinand,  as 
soon  as  he  saw  Count  Frederick's  follower; 
and  then,  passing  him  with  very  slight  saluta- 
tion, he  hurried  away,  while  Adelaide  retired 
at  once  to  her  own  chamber.  The  men  and 
horses  were  not  yet  prepared ;  and  as  Ferdinand 
•was  standing  armed  in  the  court  waiting  for 
their  appearance,  the  Count,  with  his  guest,  the 
priest,  and  the  jester,  passed  by.  The  Count's 
eye  rested  on  him,  but  he  did  not  address  him ; 
and  as  the  party  walked  on,  the  young  man 
heard  the  Lord  of  Ehrenstein  reply  to  some 
question  of  Count  Frederick's;  '^Yes,  he  is 
always  prompt  and  ready — brave  as  a  lion,  too, 


EHRENSTEIN.  287 

fearing  nothing,  living  or  dead ;  but  there  has 
come  over  him  to-daj  a  sort  of  dull  gloom 
Avhich  I  do  not  understand." 

Ferdinand  heard  no  more ;  and  in  five 
minutes  after  he  was  in  the  saddle,  and  at  the 
head  of  his  troop,  wending  onward  on  his  ex- 
pedition. Crossing  the  valley,  he  followed  the 
course  of  the  opposite  hills,  as  if  he  were 
journeying  to  Durkheim,  till  he  had  passed  the 
Abbey  about  two  miles,  where  a  small  village, 
commanding  a  beautiful  view  of  the  basin  of 
the  Rhine,  presented  itself;  and  turning  through 
it  to  the  right,  he  was  pursuing  his  way,  when  a 
loud  voice  from  a  blacksmith's  forge  called 
him  by  name ;  and  he  checked  his  horse  for  a 
moment. 

"Whither  aw^ay,  sir?  whither  away?"  asked 
Franz  Creussen,  coming  forth  with  his  enormous 
arms  bare  to  the  shoulders. 

"  To  Eppenfeld,"  answered  Ferdinand,  "  the 
Baron  has  w^aylaid  some  merchants  bringing 
gold  to  the  Count;  and  I  am  sent  to  ask  him 
to  give  it  up, — I  cannot  stay  to  tell  you  more, 


288  EHREN8TEIN. 

Franz,  but  doubt  I  may  stay  longer  where  I  am 
going,  and  perchance  need  arms  as  strong  as 
yours  to  get  me  out." 

"  Likely  enough,"  replied  the  giant ;  "  when 
come  you  back,  if  they  will  let  you?" 

"  As  fast  as  my  horse  can  carry  me,"  answer- 
ed the  young  man,  and  galloped  on,  along  one  of 
the  narrow  hill  paths  that  led  towards  Anweiler, 
with  an  unrivalled  view  of  the  whole  Palatinate 
below  him  on  the  left,  and,  on  the  right,  the 
mountains  of  the  Haard,  with  their  innumerable 
castles,  abbeys,  and  monasteries,  crowning  every 
peak,  and  barring  every  gorge.  When  he  reached 
the  road  from  Landau  to  Zweibracken,  near 
Anweiler,  instead  of  following  it  far,  he  turned 
away  again  before  he  had  gone  on  a  quarter  of 
a  mile,  in  the  direction  of  Wissenbourg,  and 
entered  a  dark  and  gloomy  looking  valley, 
where  rocks  and  trees  were  far  more  plentiful 
than  churches  or  human  habitations.  Closing 
in  on  either  side,  the  high  hills  left  but  a  narrow 
space  for  the  dell  as  it  wound  on,  till  at  length, 
at  a  spot  where  the  basin  extended  a  little,  a 


EHRENSTEIN.  289 

tall  roGk  rose  up  in  the  centre,  covered  with 
wood  wherever  the  roots  could  find  earth  to 
bear  them,  and  crowned  with  walls  and  towers 
above.  Ferdinand  gave  his  horse  the  spur,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  more  stood  before  the  gates  of 
Eppenfeld. 


TOL.    I.  -Q 


290  EHRENSTEIN. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Before  the  small  chapel  in  the  wood,  below 
the  castle  of  Ehrenstein,  there  was,  as  I 
have  said,  an  open  space  of  about  half  an 
acre.  The  trees  encroached  upon  it  here  and 
there,  rendering  the  boundary-line  broken  and 
irregular,  detracting  nought  from  the  sylvan 
beauty  of  the  scene.  On  the  contrary,  the 
variety  was  pleasant  to  the  eye ;  and  the 
old  oaks  and  beeches,  which,  starting  out 
before  their  fellows,  obtruded  on  the  soft  dry 
turf,  rendered  the  sight  more  agreeable  by  de- 
priving it  of  all  formality.  It  looked  like 
a  space  for  fairy  revels ;  and  in  truth,  though 
the  fathers,  if  they  had  seen  any  of  the  little 
good  people  present,  might  have  sent  them 
roughly  to  some  other  quarters,  took  no  slight 


EHRENSTEIN.  291 

pleasure,  as  was  commonly  the  case  with  the 
monks,  in  the  charms  of  the  spot  where  they 
had  fixed  one  of  their  buildings,  and  would 
rather  have  forfeited  a  great  deal  than  have 
cut  down  one  of  the  trees  which  formed  the 
great  ornament  of  the  place.  The  varied 
colours  of  the  spring,  the  summer,  and  the 
autumn,  afforded  much  delight  to  the  good  old 
men.  The  sunshine,  streaming  through  the 
green  leaves,  was  like  the  return  of  the  sum- 
mer of  life  to  the  winter  of  their  age ;  and 
it  was  the  boast  of  the  Lord  Abbot — though  he 
was  not  otherwise  than  fond  of  venison — that 
neither  stag,  nor  roe,  nor  fallow-deer,  had  ever 
been  slaughtered  in  those  woods  by  his  com- 
mand. Thus  the  wild  creatures  of  the  forest, 
who  have  more  sense  than  we  give  them  credit 
for,  looked  upon  the  wood,  within  two  or  three 
hundred  yards  of  the  chapel,  as  a  place  of  re- 
fuge, a  sort  of  sanctuary  ;  and  the  open  space 
between  the  trees  and  the  building  as  a  play- 
ground for  their  evening  hours.  The  beams 
of  the  full  day,  however,  were  pouring  over  the 

u  2 


292  EHRENSTEIN. 

blades  of  grass,  and  tinging  with  bright  yellow 
the  beech  leaves  above,  when  Count  Frederick 
of  Leiningen,  with  a  small  party  behind  him, 
drew  in  his  rein  at  the  chapel  door.  A  groom 
sprang  to  his  stirrup,  and,  dismounting  more 
lightly  than  from  his  age  one  would  have 
judged  possible,  he  entered  the  chapel  and 
bent  his  knee  for  some  moments  before  the 
altar,  in  prayer ;  then  rising,  he  advanced  to- 
wards the  door  of  the  little  wing  inhabited 
by  Father  George,  and,  after  knocking  at 
it  with  his  knuckles,  opened  it  and  entered, 
beckoning  the  jester  to  follow.  The  good 
priest  was  seated  at  a  table  reading,  but  he  rose, 
when,  by  air  and  manner,  more  than  even 
by  dress,  he  perceived  the  high  rank  of  his 
visitor.  For  a  moment  or  two  neither  of 
the  three  spoke,  and  the  eye  of  the  monk 
ran  from  the  face  of  Count  Frederick  to  that  of 
the  jester,  resting  upon  the  latter  long  and 
stedfastly,  with  a  sort  of  inquiring  look,  as 
if  he  recognised  features  which  he  had  seen  in 
times  of  old,  and  yet  had  some  difficulty  in 


EHRENSTEIN.  293 

assuring'  himself  tliat  they  were  the  same  which 
he  had  beheld  before  the  scorching  blast  of 
time  had  passed  over  them. 

Count  Frederick  was  the  first  who  spoke, 
saying,  "  You  do  not  remember  me,  good  father, 
though  we  have  met  often  in  early  days, 
and  more  than  once  some  ten  years  ago ;  but  I 
can  easily  forgive  your  forgetfulness,  for,  good 
faith,  the  suns  of  Syria  and  Africa  are  not  the 
greatest  beautifiers  of  man's  person,  and  the 
change  must  be  somewhat  rueful.  You  are 
little  altered,  since  last  I  saw  you ;  more  silver 
than  sable  in  your  hair  now,  it  is  true,  but  still 
the  features  are  the  same." 

"I  remember  you  well,  my  good  lord," 
replied  the  priest ;  "  though  you  are  greatly 
changed,  I  own.  Yet  here  is  one  I  should 
remember  better,  methinks  ;  for,  if  my  eyes 
deceive  me  not  strangely,  we  have  met  more 
often ; "  and  as  he  spoke  he  laid  his  hand  upon 
the  jester's  arm. 

"  I  know  not  which  is  the  greatest  deceiver," 
cried  the  jester,  with  a  laugh ;  "  a  man's  eyes  or 


294  EHRENSTEIN. 

his  ears;  the  one  cheats  him  more  often, 
the  other  more  deeply ;  but,  by  my  faith !  I 
know  not  why  my  lord  called  me  here.  If  you 
be  old  friends  you  will  have  old  tales  to 
tell,  and  I  never  yet  could  listen  patiently  to  an 
ancient  story,  or  to  the  wit  and  mirth  of 
sixty  years  and  upwards.  My  own  jests  are 
sufficient  for  me,  so,  I  pray  you,  jolly  priest, 
don't  flout  me." 

Father  George  bent  down  his  eyes  thought- 
fully on  the  ground,  and  then  shook  his  head 
somewhat  mournfully,  but  looking  up  suddenly 
at  length,  he  said,  addressing  Count  Frederick, 
"  Well,  my  good  lord,  I  am  glad  at  all  events 
to  see  you  safe  returned.  Have  you  any  com- 
mands for  me  ?  " 

"  None,  good  father,  none,"  replied  Count 
Frederick.  "  I  come  but  to  ask  a  question  or 
two. — I  have  found  at  the  castle  a  youth  named 
Ferdinand  of  Altenburg,  who  is  he  ?  " 

"  Methinks,  noble  lord,"  replied  Father 
George ;  "  that  the  name  is  enough  to  show 
you  that  he  is  of  a  noble  race  and  kin  ;  not  so 


EHRENSTEIN.  295 

rich  as  he  miglit  be,  perhaps,  but  still  with  the 
hope  of  rising  in  the  world.  He  was  my  ward, 
and  is  now  in  the  train  of  the  Count  of  Ehren- 
stein,  serving'  him  well  I  trust,  for  he  was 
always  well  disposed  and  honourable." 

"  So  is  a  cat,"  replied  the  jester,  "  rather 
thievishly  disposed  towards  mice,  but  still  an 
honourable  beast,  as  the  world  goes,  with  a 
mighty  soft  tread,  and  a  sleek  skin  well 
smoothed." 

"  But  he  is  thievishly  disposed  to  no  one," 
answered  Father  George. 

"  By  my  faith!  that  is  saying  much  for  any 
man  under  ninety,"  rejoined  the  jester;  "for 
there  are  many  kinds  of  thievishness,  which 
assault  us  at  different  stages  of  this  world's 
journey ;  and  I  have  seldom  met  with  the  male 
thing  of  twenty,  or  thereabouts,  that  would 
not  steal  a  smile  from  beauty,  or  a  heart  if 
he  could  get  it,  in  a  very  roguish  manner." 

"  That  is  lawful  robbery,"  said  the  priest, 
with  a  smile,  "  against  which  there  is  no  com- 
mandment." 


296  EHRENSTEIN. 

"  Ay,  if  the  church  have  its  dues,"  cried 
the  jester,  "then  things  are  easily  managed; 
but  Heaven  help  me !  I  blame  not  the  youth, 
nor  call  him  a  cat  either;  I  but  said  that 
Grimalkin  is  as  honest  as  he." 

"  But  not  so  bold,  so  brave,  and  so  true," 
answered  Father  George,  "  else  he  belies  his 
teaching." 

"He  seems  brave  enough,  in  truth,"  an- 
swered Count  Frederick,  "  for  he  is  even  now 
gone  to  put  his  head  into  a  lion's  mouth." 

"Ah!  how  is  that?"  exclaimed  Father 
George,  in  evident  surprise  and  alarm ;  "  I 
knew  not  that  he  was  going  anywhere." 

"  He  has  gone  to  beard  the  Baron  of  Ep- 
penfeld  in  his  hold,"  answered  the  Count ;  "  you 
can  judge  better,  my  good  friend,  what  recep- 
tion he  is  likely  to  meet  with  than  I  can." 

"  Comfortable  lodging  and  good  food,"  re- 
plied the  jester,  "  if  nothing  worse  ;  but  clean 
straw,  and  bread  and  water  may  serve  a  man's 
turn  very  well,  if  it  be  not  on  compul- 
sion.     Compulsion     is    the    salad    of    bitter 


EHRENSTEIN.  297 

herbs,  that  makes  all  a  man's  meat  have  a 
hard  flavom-." 

"  And  when  does  he  propose  to  come  back?'* 
asked  the  monk,  without  noting  Herr  Von 
IN'arren's  words. 

"  As  soon  as  he  can  ride  thither  and  return^** 
said  Count  Frederick  in  reply ;  "  he  may  be 
back  by  nine,  I  should  think." 

"He  must  have  help  in  case  of  need,'" 
rejDlied  Father  George,  thoughtfully. 

"That  he  shall  have  beyond  all  doubt,'" 
answered  the  nobleman ;  "  depend  upon  it, 
no  wrong  shall  befall  him  without  vengeance 
from  my  hand." 

"  Ay,  that  is  the  way  with  all  these  great 
lords,"  exclaimed  the  jester ;  "  vengeance  is 
a  part  of  their  creed.  Now  a  fool  or  a  serf 
would  think  it  better  to  stop  evil  deeds  than 
to  punish  them :  if  I  were  to  kill  your  horse, 
uncle,  the  beast  would  not  be  a  bit  better  off 
for  knowing  that  my  head  would  pay  the 
penalty.  I  say,  let  those  who  can,  stop  the 
doing  of  that  which  is  amiss,  and  then  there 


298  EHRENSTEIN. 

will    be    no   occasion   for   avenging   it   after- 
wards." 

He  spoke  with  a  good  deal  of  empliasis, 
and  then  turned  round  to  the  lattice-window 
and  looked  out,  while  the  priest  and  his 
noble  visitor  conversed  for  some  few  minutes 
apart. 

From  time  to  time  the  eye  of  Count  Frede- 
rick's strange  companion  wandered  from  the 
space  immediately  opposite  the  chapel,  and 
from  the  group  of  attendants  and  men-at-arms 
it  contained,  up  towards  the  castle,  with  a 
marking  and  significant  glance.  Whether  by 
accident  or  design,  I  know  not,  but  the  chapel 
had  been  so  built,  that  the  window  of  that 
room,  although  it  could  not  command  the 
whole  extent  of  the  road,  caught  glimpses  of 
it,  even  after  the  trees  crossed  it,  at  every  fifty 
or  sixty  yards  along  the  whole  extent,  and 
after  gazing  forth  for  two  or  three  minutes, 
something  seemed  to  catch  and  arrest  the 
man's  attention ;  for  he  suddenly  smiled,  laid 
his  finger  on  his  temple,  and  then,  after  having 


EHRENSTEIN.  299 

watched  for  a  moment  or  two  more,  turned 
quickly  round,  exclaiming,  "  Give  you  good- 
day,"  uncle  Frederick ;  "  I  am  away  for  a  pot 
of  honey,  I  see  there ;"  and  out  of  the  door  he 
strode  without  awaiting  an  answer.  Hurrying 
up  the  hill,  without  mounting  his  horse,  he 
had  just  passed  the  first  turning  in  the  wood, 
when  he  suddenly  came  upon  the  pretty  maid 
Bertha,  tripping  down  with  a  rapid  step,  and  a 
cheek  somewhat  flushed. 

"  A  fair  afternoon  to  you,  sweet  lady,"  said 
the  jester,  taking  her  hand ;  "  whither  away 
so  fast?" 

"  I  am  going  to  tell  my  beads  at  the  chapel," 
said  Bertha,  evidently  discomposed. 

"  A  pious  undertaking,"  cried  the  jester, 
"  and  easily  performed,  too,  if  there  were  none 
but  pigeons  in  this  world  ;  but  doves  will  meet 
with  hawks,  pretty  mistress,  when  they  fly  out 
alone;  and  if  I  mistake  not,  something  has 
ruffled  your  feathers." 

Bertha  laughed,  blushing,  and  replied : 
"  You  saw  him,  then,  sir  ?" 


300  EHRENSTEIN. 

"  I  saw  some  one  lay  liold  of  you  roughly,'* 
answered  the  jester ;  "  but,  m  truth,  my  eyes 
are  somewhat  dun ;  for  the  passing  of  years  will 
scratch  the  horn  lantern,  and  though  I  came 
out  to  help  you  in  case  of  need,  I  could  not 
distinguish  who  it  was." 

"  One  of  your  good  lord's  followers,"  an- 
swered Bertha;  "but  it  is  no  matter,  I  trust 
he  will  be  less  saucy  henceforth,  for  I  threat- 
ened to  tell  of  him." 

"  If  you  threatened  to  tell  and  don't  tell, 
pretty  maid,  be  you  sure  that  he  will  read  the 
riddle  to  his  own  advantage.  Otherwise,  he  will 
be  as  great  a  fool  as  I  am,  and  I  will  leave  him 
my  cap  and  bauble  for  a  legacy." 

Just  as  the  jester  was  uttering  these  words, 
the  youth  Martin  of  Dillberg  appeared  coming 
down  with  a  stealthy  step  ;  and  Bertha's  com- 
panion exclaimed,  "  Ha !  ha !  Here  we  have 
him,  and  no  tale  told.  For  this  he  shall  be 
punished  enough." 

"  Nay,  I  beseech  you,"  cried  Bertha,  "  do 


EHRENSTEIN.  301 

him  no  harm !  He  is  a  saucy  boy ;  but  he 
will  not  offend  again." 

"  He  has  oJBPendecl  often  enough  already,'* 
answered  the  jester,  "  but  fear  not,  pretty 
maid;  I  will  not  deal  roughly.  I  will  but 
set  the  dwarf  upon  him,  and  for  the  next 
three  days  he  will  lead  the  life  of  a  strange 
fowl  in  a  farm-yard — but  see  !  as  soon  as  his 
eye  lights  upon  me,  he  creeps  away  amongst 
the  trees.  That  youth  will  fall  upon  some 
evil  thing  before  he  is  done.  Now  hie  thee 
on  to  the  chapel,  and  tell  thy  beads  in 
peace ;  though,  Heaven  help  us !  if  all  the 
love  tales  vv'ere  counted  that  lie  under  a  rosary, 
they  would  drown  the  paters  and  aves,  I 
fear." 

"  I  am  going  to  tell  no  love  tale,"  answered 
Bertha,  colouring,  and  walking  on.  "  I  wish 
I  had  a  love  tale  to  tell." 

The  jester  laughed,  and  followed  towards 
the  cha^^el,  saying,  "  It  must  be  a  luckless 
place  this  castle  of  Ehrenstein,  not  to  furnish 
a   pretty   maiden  with   such    a    bosom-friend. 


302  EHRENSTEIN. 

Perhaps  your  sweet  mistress  cannot  say  the 
same." 

"  I  never  pry  into  my  mistress's  affairs/' 
cried  Bertha,  "  I  know  nothing  of  them." 

But  the  jester's  keen  eye  was  upon  her  as 
she  spoke,  and  he  exclaimed  with  a  provoking 
smile,  "  Ha !  ha !  thy  warm  cheek  is  as  red 
as  thy  warm  lip,  fair  maid  ;  and,  on  my  troth, 
I  can  forgive  Martin  of  Dillberg  for  tasting 
both.  Why,  you  tell-tale,  if  you  guard  your 
face  no  better,  it  is  useless  putting  a  bridle  on 
your  tongue." 

"  It  is  because  you  teaze  me,"  answered 
Bertha,  petulantly ;  "  I  declare,  Martin  of 
Dillberg  was  better  than  you  are,  so  I  shall 
hurry  on,  and  do  without  your  company." 

The  jester  followed,  but  not  very  rapidly; 
and  when  Bertha  saw  the  horsemen  standing 
at  the  chapel  gate,  she  paused,  and  seemed  to 
hesitate ;  but  then  taking  heart  of  grace,  she 
hastened  forward  again,  and,  without  looking 
to  the  right  or  left,  approached  the  shrine. 

Her   orisons  were  somewhat  long,   for  the 


EHRENSTEIN.  303 

Count,  and  the  jester,  who  had  again  entered 
the  good  priest's  cell,  remained  there  for  half 
an  hour,  and  when  they  came  forth  and  rode 
on  towards  the  Abbey,  Bertha  was  still  at 
prayer. 


END    OF    VOL.    1. 


London : 
Printed  by    Stewart  and  Mtjrbat, 
Old  Bailej. 


THE 


CATTLE 
I  EHEEiTEINJ 

4  P.  E,  JAMES 


TN    THREE    VOLUMES 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILUNOIS-URBANA 


3  0112  039496739 


